Chapter 19: Kaifeng

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Zhu Xiang lived in the military camp every day, sharing the same food, clothes, and sleeping arrangements as the soldiers. It wasn’t that Minmin, who was three months pregnant, forbade him from sleeping in the tent—it was simply because he was a man of principle.

A group of rough men sat outdoors, all squatting on the ground since there were no tables or chairs yet. They sat close together, each holding a bowl like beggars. Liu Fatty from the kitchen carried a bucket, handing Zhu two steamed corn buns and a bowl of mutton soup. He was about to give him the largest piece of lamb leg but got a glare in return.

Everyone watched curiously to see how I would eat—this young comrade clearly lacked understanding.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Liu Fatty pointed toward Minmin’s tent. Zhu nodded.

Of course, the wife and child ate the meat first; I would naturally gnaw on the best bones.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, Zhu Xiang clapped his hands and announced, “Everyone up! Today’s march is twenty miles.”

No meal was given for free—everyone efficiently returned to the barracks to pack their bedding. In those days, Mongols had only one sheepskin quilt, and the Han people had it worse, sleeping on the same straw mat from birth to death.

Once packed, everyone gathered at the training ground. Following later military regulations, Zhu Xiang mixed the Mongols and Han soldiers into different companies. Thanks to living closely together these days, most Mongols had learned basic Mandarin.

Why had successive Han dynasties failed to conquer the steppes? It wasn’t due to differences in weapons but because of language—the biggest barrier. If you can’t understand the laws and texts, how can you rule? Why did the Qing dynasty succeed? Because descendants of wild boars intermarried with the grassland tribes for generations, switching fluently between Manchu, Han, and Mongolian.

“Move out!” Zhu Xiang, without mounting a horse, ran at the front like a common soldier, carrying his own pack.

Zhang Yu and the military police walked in the middle, constantly cracking their whips to urge those who lagged behind.

Zhu Xiang felt like he had returned to his past military life, excitedly shouting, “Sing the Three Main Rules and Eight Points for Attention!”

The thunderous singing echoed across the fields. Starving peasants digging in the soil raised their heads. In the streets of Kaifeng, ragged refugees selling their children looked toward the direction of the song.

In this bleak and dark apocalypse, a touch of color seemed to emerge—a splash of red.

As Zhu Xiang’s group walked through the fields, on both sides of the road were pale and emaciated people, fragile as drifting weeds. They carried their children and families, kneeling by the roadside, crying and begging every passerby for a morsel of kindness and food.

A wealthy merchant preparing to enter the city was stopped by a crowd. Furious, he ignored his steward’s advice, kicked an elderly woman—nearly fifty years old—who was prostrated on the ground in the face. Not satisfied, he spat on her and disdainfully wiped his shoe before mounting his carriage. His status made him feel that even speaking to these lowly people was a disgrace.

The steward tossed a blackened steamed bun to the old woman and took away her three-year-old bewildered grandson.

The woman bowed her head repeatedly, crying and expressing gratitude, “Master Huang, your kindness and mercy are boundless.”

The carriage left, leaving a trail of dust. The old woman’s forehead was battered and bleeding, unnoticed. Beside her, a six-year-old granddaughter wailed loudly. The old woman held her close, sobbing uncontrollably, “Don’t cry, child. It doesn’t matter that the master didn’t choose you. Grandma will take you into the city and sell you to the slave traders. As long as you reach the slave house, you’ll have a bite to eat and survive.”

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Zhu Xiang, of course, knew what the slave houses were. Originally middlemen trading livestock, by the Song dynasty, they had become legalized places for human trafficking. Brothels, concubines, and servants from wealthy families, once handled by these slave traders, became legal commodities.

He could not blame the old woman. In this apocalypse, it was hard enough to survive, let alone talk about dignity.

If you cannot survive, how can you speak of the future?

“Zhang Yu.”

“At your service, Commander. What are your orders?”

Zhu Xiang looked at the thousands of refugees crowded before him, hesitant to move forward.

“Give half of our provisions to these refugees.”

They had brought three days’ worth of dry rations for the march. Though not enough to satisfy hunger fully, it could keep them from starving for two or three months.

Quartermaster and clerk Jin Zhong looked troubled. “Commander, the rations in our tents only last seven days. If we give away more, we’ll have nothing left. Besides, there are too many starving people across the land—we simply can’t save them all.”

Zhu Xiang glared at him and said firmly, “If I don’t see them, I can ignore it. But these starving people have come to me. If I turn a blind eye, my conscience will condemn me.”

“I have a solution regarding the food issue, Qiu Fu.”

“At your service, sir. I will take a platoon and infiltrate the city to gather intelligence on the wealthy families.”

Qiu Fu trembled at Zhu Xiang’s fury, stammering, “Commander, you don’t mean to…?”

He wanted to say “kill and plunder” but dared not.

Zhu Xiang snorted coldly. “Don’t worry, we’re borrowing their food—and they’ll willingly hand it over with all their heart.”

The refugees gratefully accepted the provisions. A few strong men greedily tried to snatch the bags from the weak and elderly.

“Zhang Yu, chop off the hands of those few.”

Zhang Yu and the military police dragged those men out of the refugee group. Soon, agonized screams sounded from the spot where the strong men were taken.

Pointing at the one-armed rogues who had attempted to steal, Zhu Xiang scolded, “If anyone dares to steal your food, come to the camp outside Kaifeng and find me, Zhu Xiang. I’ll make sure justice is done.”

Zhu Xiang and his men then proceeded to Kaifeng city. The Kaifeng Darughachi Batu Meng and Prefect Song Xing stood atop the city walls, frightened by the display and hurriedly shut the gates.

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Prefect Song Xing shouted loudly, “Lord Junma, the deputy general was strictly ordered not to let you enter the city before departure. Please spare this humble servant. If you need provisions, I will personally deliver them to the camp.”

“Prefect Song, did you see? I prepared two banners. Choose one for yourself.”

Song Xing looked down and saw two flags raised: “Great Yuan Salvation Army” and “Great Ming Restoration Army.” His vision darkened, and he almost slipped and fell.

Beside him, Darughachi Batu Meng cursed, “You barbarous dog, how dare you rebel!”

“Zhang Dabiao, where’s my Italian cannon? Bring it out and fire a shot for them!”

Zhang Yu, called Zhang Dabiao, had a blank expression, unsure what madness the commander was on about with the “Italian” cannon. He dragged out the European-style bronze cannon and ordered it to be aimed where Zhu Xiang pointed with his horsewhip.

The bronze eagle cannon was fired at Batu Meng. After a thunderous roar, Batu Meng collapsed, a bloody mess.

“What kind of lousy shot is this artillery company firing? Is there some old geezer standing there invisible?”

Zhu Xiang was dissatisfied with the European cannon he had commissioned craftsmen to replicate from the ancestors’ design. The solid shot’s lethality was lacking; the gunpowder needed improvement.

The terrified Prefect Song Xing, seeing another shot being loaded under the city tower, disregarded the blood and gore on his face, shouting, “Open the gates! Open the gates! Welcome the royal army!”

On the way into the city, flag bearer Zhu Neng suddenly asked, “Commander, which banner should we carry into the city?”

Qiu Fu, shifty-eyed, whispered, “Are you stupid? Our master means when we do dirty work, fly the Yuan banner. So, of course, we carry the Yuan banner into the city.”

Zhu Xiang, hitting his forehead in frustration, scolded, “Flag Officer Zhu, from now on, when you face Yuan troops, fly the Yuan banner. When facing Ming troops, fly the Ming banner.”

“Understood,” Zhu Neng replied, bowing.

Zhu Neng was someone Zhu Xiang had picked up along the march. Originally intending to enlist in General Xu Da’s camp to find his father, he was found unconscious after being ambushed by bandits. Seeing his Ming army uniform, Zhu Xiang had rescued him.

Grateful for his life, Zhu Neng had since sworn loyalty to him. Zhu Xiang looked at the respectful young man and understood why he and Zhang Yu were his most trusted commanders, while the treacherous Qiu Fu constantly harbored ill intentions and slandered this man of honor. When I ascend the throne, I’ll exile him to Siberia to dig potatoes.

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