Harvest season was both a blessing and a curse.
A good harvest put grain and money in the hands of common folk, but it also tended to mark the moment when the ambitions of certain scheming men swelled to their breaking point.
Within the territories of the three great powers, countless independent forces had taken root. Self-proclaimed "wild emperors" alone numbered more than a dozen.
Those who had merely declared themselves kings were even more numerous.
Now that the harvest was over, these wild kings and wild emperors found themselves in dire straits.
The three great powers moved almost simultaneously, sweeping clean every rogue claimant within their respective spheres of influence.
Each of the three held formidable advantages: one commanded a mighty army and powerful cavalry; another possessed vast and expansive territory; and the third, though perpetually on the receiving end of beatings as the weakest of the three, was supremely confident in its ability to crush whatever rabble remained.
In one sweeping purge, nearly every wild king and wild emperor was wiped from the map.
A few, more adept at reading the wind, had already fled at the first sign of trouble.
But without land, territory, or people to their name, they were no better than grasshoppers at the end of autumn — a few more hops left in them, at most.
For now, all three powers needed to consolidate their holdings and recuperate their strength. Yet judging by what had just unfolded, the autumns to come — next year's and the year after's — were unlikely to be peaceful.
Knowing the nature of these three factions, it was only a matter of time: either the Northern Barbarians would go after the Ming Bandits, or the Ming Bandits would go after the Imperial Court.
The Imperial Court, in all likelihood, would be the last to throw the first punch. They would simply stand there and take the blows, then declare through gritted teeth: *Go on then, hit me — I'll admit defeat the moment I so much as whimper!*
…
Another afternoon drifted toward dusk. This was when the Zhao household was liveliest.
All thirty-four members of the Zhao family — as long as they were in Longcheng and had nothing truly pressing to attend to — would return home for dinner.
It was because the Master liked having everyone gathered together.
And so even when someone was stationed far away with a great deal on their plate, they would still choose to come back, eat with the family, and then make the long journey back to carry on with their work.
"Jade Emperor, oh Jade Emperor! Why do you… gaze into empty air, yet refuse to look my way…"
Jinyuan tilted her head in exaggerated fashion, both hands raised with fingers pinched into dainty orchid-petal poses pressed against her temples. The effect was utterly absurd.
Everyone at the dinner table burst out laughing, and more than a few people sprayed mouthfuls of food.
Only the youngest children — eight-year-old Mingming among them — had no idea what everyone was laughing about. Jinyuan-jiejie did seem strange somehow, but why was that funny?
Jinyuan stood there, unable to keep up the performance. Eyes bright with excitement, she asked, "Master, was I convincing? Did I remind you of Jinxiu-jie?"
Jinxiu, who had been pressing her lips together in a thoroughly amused smile, was blindsided. *Damn it,* she thought, *how did the fire jump to me?*
Her image as a refined young lady of good breeding was in serious jeopardy. She shoved back the table and lunged at Jinyuan. "You little wretch — just see if I don't kill you!"
Zhao Baihui pretended to stroke his chin in contemplation. "I wouldn't say seven or eight parts convincing — I'd say the portrayal cut right to the bone."
"Master!" Jinxiu was absolutely beside herself. Having just finished dealing with Jinyuan, she now flung herself at Zhao Baihui.
In order to elevate the cultural life of the people under his domain, Zhao Baihui had spent a considerable sum in the System to purchase the rights to a complete vernacular edition of *Journey to the West*.
At twenty yuan a copy, he had bought a thousand volumes outright.
Twenty thousand yuan — a trifle.
He then had a bookshop opened.
Longcheng's population had yet to reach ten thousand, and Zhao Baihui had expected those thousand copies to last a good long while. Twenty yuan apiece was no small sum, after all.
But within days, every single copy had sold out — leaving him marveling at just how quickly literacy rates had climbed.
He went back to the System and bought another five thousand copies before supply finally met demand.
The whole city had thrown itself into *Journey to the West*. Which was precisely what had led to the scene just now.
The only change was that "Elder Brother Jade Emperor" had been swapped out for "Master Jade Emperor."
"It seems the cultural development is coming along nicely. We'll keep putting out more books for everyone to read!"
…
Outside Longcheng, a column of people moved slowly forward, the life drained out of them.
"Move faster!" A soldier cracked his whip across a man's back. The man shot him a fierce glare — and earned himself another lash for it.
"You dare eyeball me, you bastard? If the General hadn't said we'd have to pay compensation for killing one of you, I'd beat you to death right here, you son of a turtle!"
A tiger fallen to the plains is tormented by dogs. Liu Dadao, who had once terrorized the land with his great blade, was now a prisoner in chains, left to endure the abuse of a lowly foot soldier he would once have been too proud to spare a glance.
Small mercy that Fang Datou was in the same wretched state somewhere in the column. Without that, Liu Dadao suspected he might not have been able to live with himself — and might well have chosen to end it.
At the head of the column, a general of imposing bearing sat astride his horse with the hawk-eyed, wolf-like gaze of a man surveying his own kingdom. He held his chin high and swept his eyes across the horizon.
At the sight of a small mounted patrol riding in from the distance, he shrank like a quail.
Even with over a thousand men at his back and two hundred cavalry to hand, the approach of thirty-odd riders was enough to set his heart hammering. The Imperial Court's forces had become so fractured that there were no truly reliable allies — a brother in arms one moment could turn his blade on you the next.
Backstabbing was commonplace.
When the approaching riders slowed without charging, the guerrilla general allowed himself to breathe again. He plastered on a smile and spurred his horse forward to meet them.
"My lord, I have delivered the prisoners as requested. Two thousand, seven hundred and forty-five in total."
"My lord, transporting prisoners over such a distance — well, accidents do happen. Some fall ill, some attempt escape… shall we call it an even two… one thousand five hundred? What do you say?"
These were people the Imperial Court had sold to Longcheng, at ten taels of silver a head.
Their guerrilla general was a most considerate man — always thinking of ways to spare others the burden. Naturally, if a little goodwill found its way back to him in return, all the better.
Mingwei simply looked the man over with cool indifference. *These people,* he thought. *The Court is already crumbling, and still they play their little games, clawing for silver and advantage.*
Small wonder that the Court's own governors and regional commanders had been stationed here long enough to observe Longcheng's way of doing things firsthand — and still couldn't replicate it.
The rot had reached the roots.
As the Master said: unless you tore everything down and built anew, even if you managed to save what remained, how long could it possibly last?
"Go. Count the heads. Report back with the actual number."
Two of the Langbing soldiers went to relay the order. Hundreds of Longcheng security officers were already waiting; they broke into teams and moved in to begin the count.
Mingwei remained motionless on his horse, still as a statue. Unable to read him, the guerrilla general grew increasingly uncomfortable — caught between embarrassment and dread.
Mercifully, it wasn't long before one of the Langbing riders came forward.
"My lord, the numbers roughly check out — two thousand, seven hundred and forty-three."
What had become of the missing two was left unspoken. As the general himself had put it: anything could happen on a prisoner escort.
"Noted."
"Ten taels per head. Payment will be delivered in full to Commissioner Wen Jingran. That will be all, General."
"Yes, yes — very good. We'll be on our way, then." The fourth-rank guerrilla general looked as though he'd just been pardoned from the scaffold. He wheeled his horse around and rode off, his thousand-odd men streaming after him as though fleeing a lost battle.
Mingyuan rode over in his black uniform and broad-brimmed cap. "Mingwei, we can take it from here. You and your men head back."
"Understood, Fifth Brother. We'll return to our post."
Mingyuan — the fifth of the boys — currently oversaw operations at the Security Office, under the leadership of Vice District Chief Jinyuan.
Li Dabao trotted over on his horse, eager to please. "Chief, wasn't this only supposed to be the first batch? Looks like we'll need to take on more hands — we're going to be stretched thin otherwise."
"We'll discuss that later. For now, take these people over to the holding facility and get them settled."
"Each one of them cost a thousand yuan to acquire. They'll need years of work before we see a return on that."