Chapter Fifty-Seven: Whose Coattails to Cling To

The terrain within the borders of Xuanfu was mostly flat, a land well-suited for cavalry maneuvers, with no natural barriers that could be defended. Thus, since the founding of the empire by the Grand Emperor, Ming had reinforced the border walls along Xuanfu, hoping to rely on them to keep the northern nomads at bay, preventing their cavalry from reaching the capital and threatening the stability of the Ming dynasty.

The place where Lu Qing and his companions hid was a barren stretch of land, uncultivated and empty, bearing faint traces left by people of the previous dynasty. The soil itself was fertile; with a little tilling, it would become productive within a few years, yielding crops no less than those from the rich fields of the south. Yet, after decades of peace under Ming rule, many military families had fled their duties, and the nobility and officers had seized much of the garrison land, turning most military households into private tenants for the commanders. The garrisons cared little for reclamation or irrigation, so wasteland within the territory only grew more abundant.

The food supplied to the defeated soldiers at Gentleman’s Fort was mostly made on the spot, with coarse flatbreads forming the main staple. The urgency meant some were barely cooked, raw and flavorless, hard to digest and unpleasant to eat—yet now they were the lifeline for the soldiers, devoured ravenously. Supplies were scant, only enough for three days, so Song Bangde, in charge of distribution, was particularly careful: he allowed no one to eat their fill, only half-satiated, lest the provisions run out and the entire force starve.

Lin Xiaoqi and his men had once considered robbing more food from the women and children at the fort; such shamelessness even Guo the eunuch refused to condone, and the idea was dropped. What to do once the food was gone, no one knew, so they could only wait and see after passing Jin Family Manor.

The weeds in this wasteland grew taller than a man, clustered around a small lake where fish and birds dwelled. Some soldiers, unable to stomach the coarse bread, or otherwise unsatisfied, gathered in groups of three or five to fish and hunt, even searching for bird eggs to eat. For a while, the wasteland was lively, but military discipline was nowhere to be seen. If the Oirat were to attack now, the consequences would be disastrous.

Though Lu Qing was dissatisfied with the disorder among the defeated troops, he could only turn a blind eye, letting them be, afraid that too much interference might stir up trouble beyond his ability to quell.

He did not possess the aura of a king or the commanding presence of a tyrant; decisiveness and ruthlessness had yet to show in him. If there was anything about him that earned the soldiers’ respect, it was his ability to remain clear-headed in the face of death, knowing which way offered the best chance of survival, and his willingness to fight for his life, his guiding principle: if worse comes to worst, let death come with head held high.

In essence, he was just a fugitive with some wits. The defeated soldiers, all fugitives themselves, were no less clever than Lu Qing; their gathering to break through south served both to survive and to chase the promise of joining the imperial guards, as offered by Guo the eunuch. It had little to do with Lu Qing himself. If he tried to intimidate them, hoping to command their loyalty and make them swear fealty, he would likely end up dead for his trouble.

He was always self-aware; in his previous life, Lu Qing had been a mere commoner, well aware of his own limitations. What he relied on was nothing more than a few centuries’ worth of historical knowledge compared to these soldiers. If he foolishly tried to enforce discipline by killing a few for show, he would only end up dying himself, and no one would protect him.

At heart, Lu Qing remained a small figure, as in his previous life—someone who would smile obsequiously at even a minor town official, afraid to offend, lacking any air of authority. In this state, what could he possibly accomplish?

Without the right mindset, experience, or status, to aspire to anything more was futile.

Fortunately, Lu Qing understood his own limitations. He hoped to change the tragedy at Tumubao by leveraging his connection with Guo the eunuch, but he was also looking for someone powerful to back him. In this feudal era, only those with status wield authority. If he could win the favor of Wang Zhen or the rightful emperor, Zhu Qizhen, what status or power could he not possess?

Throughout history, what could a commoner accomplish? Before their rebellion, Chen Sheng and Wu Guang were minor leaders among the garrison, wielding some authority. Liu Bang, blown to greatness by the winds of change, had been a police chief before his uprising; and the founder of this dynasty owed his rise to being the son-in-law of Marshal Guo Zixing.

In short, without some status beforehand, nothing could be accomplished. If you lack status, you must at least have a band of brothers, those who have sworn loyalty through blood, to support you—only then can you rally others. Otherwise, don’t even think of succeeding at anything.

Why do scholar-rebels fail after ten years? Because no one trusts or follows them. Huang Chao, the scholar, was the leader of a band; Hong Xiuquan, another scholar, founded a religious cult. These are exceptions, true anomalies, and Lu Qing dared not compare himself to them. Besides, he had no intention of truly rebelling against the Zhu family’s rule; for now, he was still hoping to cling to the emperor’s favor.

If he could not grasp the emperor’s thigh, then at least Wang Zhen’s long legs would suffice; otherwise, as a low-ranking officer in the imperial guards, how could he gain a foothold in Ming?

The way the defeated soldiers looked at him told Lu Qing all he needed to know: they despised his closeness to Guo the eunuch. But to Lu Qing, it didn’t matter whose favor he courted; what mattered was who could grant him a stage on which to wield power.

To become a member of the eunuch faction was, in truth, no bad thing.

Had they not seen Zhou Yunyi and his men, who fought the Tartars to the death without flinching, bow their heads to Guo the eunuch? Why? Two words—power.

One day, if power is in my hands, why should I fear you rabble?

Looking at these defeated soldiers who gave him no regard, Lu Qing snorted coldly.

...

The sun sank bit by bit, darkness slowly rising.

“Eunuch, the time has come!”

“Success or failure depends on tonight!”

“Don’t worry, Sir, I’ll risk my life to get you through!”

“As long as I, Lin Zhengyi, am here, not a single hair on your head will be harmed by the Tartars!”

...

Song Bangde and the others pledged their loyalty, each beating their chest, vowing to protect Guo the eunuch.

“Good, then I entrust my old life to all of you. I can promise nothing else, but as long as I enjoy fortune, none of you will lack glory! Let us go!”

Guo the eunuch, full of spirit, waved his hand. The crowd responded in unison, and soon the group emerged from the wasteland, heading south into the night.

When no one was watching, Guo the eunuch pulled Lu Qing into the carriage.

“Lad, my eyelid’s been twitching fiercely—I suspect this road will be rough. If the Tartars attack, pay them no mind—just focus on getting the two of us through.”

“I understand,” Lu Qing replied softly. This was exactly as he had expected; if the Tartars in Jin Family Manor attacked, he certainly would not care whether these defeated soldiers lived or died.

“Good, as long as you know. I fear nothing, except that you’ll get worked up and insist on fighting the Tartars to the death. There’s no need.”

As he spoke, Guo the eunuch suddenly reached out and touched Lu Qing’s forehead, murmuring, “In truth, your words today may not have been wrong. The human heart is the hardest thing to fathom in this world...”

“Sir?” Lu Qing was surprised that Guo the eunuch brought this up again.

Guo the eunuch said nothing more, only sighed.

Seeing this, Lu Qing fell silent as well, jumping out of the carriage. He touched the long blade at his waist, then mounted his mule in a single motion.