“How—how much?”
“Five hundred cash!”
“Cash for what?”
“The ferry fare, the road toll! You thought crossing the river was free? And the cost of the grain we gave you—why should we hand out grain for nothing?!”
“But that’s the government’s... we’ve got no money!”
“No money? If you’ve no money, what business do you have crossing the river? What business do you have going to Southern Xuzhou?!” As he spoke, the soldier in his simple leather armor drew his saber and brandished it over the water. “No money, then jump in yourselves!”
Under the setting sun the blade flashed wildly, and the boat fell instantly dead silent. How could anyone there fail to know that they had been waylaid by government troops out to rob them?
And it was worse than that. Though it was already evening and the light on the river was dim and muddled, one could just make out—around the boats that had stopped in the distance—great “plops,” and no doubt people really were being flung into the Huai from those big boats to make an example of them.
Under such circumstances, who dared make another sound?
“Old thing, hand over your money!” The soldier’s gaze swept the crowd, picked his target, then stepped past several people—Liu Cheng among them—came to the middle of the boat, and fixed on Old Liu San, the one who had earlier explained Liu Ren Gong’s situation to Liu Cheng.
One had to admit, the fellow had an eye. Old Liu San was the “quartermaster,” a distant kinsman of Liu Ren Gong’s, sent out to manage this bunch; in real wealth and in dress alike, he was the most conspicuous here.
“I... I don’t have five hundred cash...” Old Liu San was shaking, though his hand was already stealing into his coat.
But whether to make a show of force or something else, the soldier raised his saber hand and cracked the hilt against the old man’s mouth. One crack, and the old man’s mouth was instantly full of blood; he could barely make a sound, and whether any teeth had been knocked out was anyone’s guess. Seizing the moment, the soldier’s other hand yanked into his coat and all but snatched away a small pouch.
The motion was as practiced as a daily routine.
Watching this, Liu Cheng—though he had been mentally prepared—could not help a jolt of alarm, and then, absurdly, a feeling that had no business belonging to this moment: was this man a soldier or a bandit?
It was true that the Great Jin’s imperial army, the Northern Expedition forces especially, had a glorious tradition of moonlighting as robbers—even a national hero like Zu Ti had done his share of plundering. But this was simply too practiced.
Having taken the coin pouch, this soldier-bandit clamped the saber hilt under his arm and eagerly opened it to look inside, clearly displeased.
While he was thus occupied, Liu Cheng could not help but look again at the two boatmen, one at the bow, one at the stern. Seeing that the pair merely laid their oars across their feet and sat with their arms folded, coldly watching from the sidelines, he knew they would not see a coin of this money. His heart stirred a little... but only stirred. It was like the pouch of stones he had gripped since he first came aboard—just held, without truly acting.
After all, he was a person with no combat experience and no experience on the water, his body only that of a youth, with no bow, crossbow, or dagger—no weapon in hand that could kill in a single strike. Resorting to force was truly the last option.
In fact, to his mind, if losing money could turn away disaster, that was acceptable.
The world was simply like this. It was these Huai refugees—having been through the earlier unrest—who still believed their refugee commander Liu Zhi could protect the valuables they carried on them. One could hardly blame them for being naive; one could only sigh.
The robbery went on.
When it came to the next person, the situation improved somewhat. This man, too, was surnamed Liu, but he was only a down-and-out commoner like Liu Cheng. He simply stood up and stripped himself stark naked right there on the boat—he had only two garments and one grain bag anyway, so he was quick to take them off and quick to toss them down—then spread both hands and said nothing.
The soldier was left exasperated. He only spat at the man’s crotch and passed by, letting the down-and-out commoner dress himself again behind him and pick his grain bag back up.
The robbery that followed went smoothly as well. By the time he reached the stern, of the six or seven people on the boat, three had money, and all of it was handed over; not even a bundle of clothes was spared.
Seeing this result, the soldier acted as though he had suffered some enormous injustice. First he vented by picking up the group’s clay cauldron and flinging it into the river, then he pointed at the various big and small boats in the distance and began to complain: “They just know how to squeeze me out, to bully me for not sharing a surname with the detachment commander! Everything’s the worst for me—they give me this little boat, and then I run into you good-for-nothings... When I hand these things over, I won’t get to keep the money, and I’ll get a beating on top of it!”
The moment this man started feeling wronged, most of the people on the boat actually relaxed. These were, after all, mere external things; only Old Liu San, clutching his mouth and slumped to one side, had truly taken a loss. So long as they got across safely, that was fine—and besides, the soldier showed no sign of taking back the grain that had been handed out.
But Liu Cheng still did not relax, because the soldier, in order to rob Old Liu San, had begun his search from the middle of the boat; the bow had not been robbed yet. And here at the bow, what Liu Cheng worried about was not himself—looking as poor as he did, at worst he too could strip stark naked. What he truly worried about was Brother Qi beside him.
Brother Qi was no pauper. He had a sheep with him. He was hugging the sheep and shivering all over, yet his face was flushed red—he was likely to ruin everything.
Sure enough, the soldier turned back. Without so much as a glance at the youth Liu Cheng, nor at the other refugee who had volunteered his two garments, he went straight to the sheep and, without a word, made to drag it away.
He could not budge it.
The soldier-bandit flew into a rage, and again cracked the saber hilt into the man’s mouth—a practiced motion—then pulled again, and still could not move it.
Just as he was about to curse, he saw the man, heedless of everything, simply bow his head and hug the sheep, burying his whole face in the wool. The soldier grew thoroughly furious, gripped the hilt, and smashed it again and again into the man’s cheek, until a patch of the wool was dyed red and the sheep bleated in pain.
Everyone around was dumbstruck.
Seeing things going badly, Liu Cheng hurried to his feet to plead: “Brother Qi, it’s not worth it! It’s just a sheep—give it to him!”
The soldier had probably tired himself out from the beating. He let out a breath, stopped, and cursed: “You poor wretch, do you not care for your life? You really think the ones going plop-plop into the river over there aren’t people? I’m softhearted, I don’t like killing to make examples—and you go and cling to me?!”
The refugee surnamed Qi lifted his head. His whole face and head were covered in blood, one cheek swollen, yet he only dared look sidelong at the young companion who had always spoken kindly with him. When he opened his mouth, tears mixed with blood and fell: “A Cheng, you don’t know—my Qi family has only me left. Before we set out, my father said this sheep must be kept, absolutely, to take a wife; it must not be lost! If the sheep is lost, my family line ends with me!”
The words were jumbled and turned about—what father’s words, and only one person left?—but the final meaning got through all the same: the sheep simply could not be lost.
Hearing this, Liu Cheng knew the man truly could not be reasoned with. His heart set with resolve, and he hurried to stop the soldier: “Sir soldier, by your accent you’re a Huai man too. We’re all country folk here—why stoop to squabble with a fool? Spare him!”
As he spoke, he reached out to press down on the arm of the saber the man gripped in reverse.
The soldier had been listening to the first part, but when the youth at his side pressed his arm, he only grew angrier. He flung Liu Cheng off, throwing him down at the bow, and said harshly: “Where are you from, you little wild dog, that you dare touch me? Who’s your country folk?!”
His lesson delivered, seeing the youth fallen at the bow and not rising, he turned back again and brandished the bare blade to shout at the few who had stood up at the stern: “You want to live or die?! All of you, sit down for your grandpa!”
Hearing this, those who had risen could only slowly sit back down.
The soldier let out a breath and was about to turn back to continue robbing the sheep when—just as a bleat sounded, before he had turned—he suddenly felt a great boom beside his ear, and then a fierce pain spread through the back of his head. Turning with the momentum, he saw the very youth who had come to plead for the man, a great boat oar in his hands, swinging hard straight at his face—and before he could dodge, and was not able to, he was struck again full on the head, seeing stars, a warm wetness welling up from somewhere he could not tell.
Then his ears rang without stop, a strong nausea surged up in his chest, and just as he tried to raise his hand and lift his saber, he found all four limbs going weak at once. He dropped where he stood and sat hard on the deck, and the saber rolled from his hand to his feet.
And that was not all. Even after the man had gone limp, the boat oar did not stop—it kept crashing down on his forehead seven or eight more times.
In truth, so many blows were hardly needed; another two or three would have finished robbing him of his senses entirely.
That’s right—Liu Cheng’s risky ambush had succeeded. In the end he had not dared use the pouch of stones; he had no idea what force it carried, and no confidence he could strike true. This boat oar, on the other hand, he had marked the moment he came aboard, which was why he had made a point of sitting at the bow; and after discovering that the two boatmen were not in league with the soldier-bandit, he had settled on this plan... He simply had not imagined that Brother Qi would really raise such a fuss over a sheep, forcing his hand.
What else was there to do?
Was he really to gamble on the soldier-bandit’s conscience?
“Brother Qi.” On the boat, fallen silent a second time, Liu Cheng—who had just completed the feat of Oar Swung Midstream—panted for breath, and while keeping the boat oar pressed against the man’s throat, spoke. “Get his saber! Throw him into the river! They picked sunset to do their robbing—that’s to our advantage. The boats in the distance haven’t noticed, so they won’t notice! Once we throw him in, we go, quick!”
Brother Qi, hugging his sheep, looked at Liu Cheng right beside him and clearly shrank back... Perhaps in fear of the fallen soldier-bandit, perhaps in fear of this youth whom he had rather looked after these past few days, or perhaps simply stunned senseless.
Since he did not move, someone else did. The companion who had stripped naked earlier stepped forward without a word and took the saber, but facing the soldier-bandit lying on the boat, he still hesitated, plainly aware that if he threw the man over, the man’s life would truly be gone.
Seeing this, Liu Cheng could only, helplessly, first turn to instruct the boatmen: “I said it before—the boats in the distance haven’t noticed, and that’s the truth. But if you start shouting now, we’ll have no choice but to fight you to the death and kill you. And if, after we leave, you go report to the authorities, even once these government troops get wind of it, they still won’t know who we are, much less where to find us—and the ones who’ll be out of luck are still you! Take my advice: get the boat moving now, let it drift a ways further downstream, and after we’ve landed, come back on your own to pick up the next batch, and you can cover it all up.”
With that, he tossed down the boat oar and walked over himself, meaning to throw the soldier-bandit over with his own hands—but he had little strength left and could not push him at all. Luckily the earlier companion hesitated no more; he came forward to help, flipped the fellow over on the boat, and threw him into the Huai.
With a great splash that answered the distant wails and the sounds of bodies hitting water, the spray leapt up and wet everyone on board, yet no one spoke again; and the boat slowly got under way—heading, as expected, downstream.
The whole way, the wind rose over the river and the afterglow of the setting sun spread across it, and the companions on the boat, together with the two boatmen, could not stop stealing glances at the youth.
Little did they know that Liu Cheng, calm as he appeared on the surface, was now inwardly pounding, his heart racing, his very hands and feet going weak—for he had awakened to the fact that he had killed a man, and however one reckoned it, this death would be pinned on him.
And he realized, too, just what had happened: put bluntly, he had harbored the will to kill from the very start. Ever since he learned that this was the Eastern Jin and Sixteen Kingdoms, he had taken it as certain that such things were unavoidable; all along, deep down, he had been terribly afraid, and his so-called confidence and cheer had been nothing but a self-protective painted skin.
In a sense, he had been standing at full guard all this time, waiting for exactly this.
So when the robbery came to its dead end, just as if he had rehearsed it in his heart, Liu Cheng struck back at the soldier-bandit with a resolve he could scarcely understand—even with something like eagerness.
Of course, by the time the boat reached the bank and he rose to his feet, he had already recovered his calm.
After all, how did that saying go? Having crossed over into the Eastern Jin and Sixteen Kingdoms, was he supposed to prepare to go a whole lifetime without killing? And once he had killed, what was the use of counting the cost?
“Old Liu San, did we forget to strip that fellow’s clothes?” In the last trace of light, the group walked on in silence, meaning to cut over to the official road ahead and then head upstream to rejoin the column. They had gone perhaps half a li—almost the very instant the sun went down—when Liu Cheng thought of something and turned to ask Old Liu San behind him, quite seriously.
Old Liu San did not answer. He only clutched his mouth.
Chapter 3