Jingkou

"Jingkou and Guazhou lie a stretch of water apart; from Mount Zhong only a few ranges of hills divide us." These days Mount Zhong is called Mount Jiang, but the line still holds in this era. That is because Mount Zhong is the old Han-dynasty name: it was only because Sun Quan's grandfather was named Sun Zhong that the name was avoided back when Stone City was built. The Great Jin court, of course, has no need to avoid the name of Sun Quan's grandfather — and using the Han-dynasty name Mount Zhong makes you look more cultured, doesn't it? Right. At the end of the seventh month, Liu Cheng arrived with refugee commander Liu Ren Gong's column in the neighborhood of the spiritual homeland he had dreamed of — Jiankang's next-door neighbor: Jingkou, that name so ubiquitous in the poetry of later ages. The pace had indeed been fast. In fact, the latter half of the journey, after leaving the Huai River, had gone remarkably smoothly, and far quicker than before. The core reason was both cruel and funny. That robbery on the Huai had cost the column the vast majority of its livestock, pack animals, and wheelbarrows and other transport — but it had also, in effect, put nearly the entire column on a light footing. What was more, that organized plundering had killed whatever interest the Great Jin troops along the way might have taken in this band of paupers; and since Liu Ren Gong held proper papers issued by the Grand Commander's office, there was no excuse for withholding grain. And on reflection, if they did not hand out the grain they would have nothing to skim off the top, so they were quite prompt about it. Under such conditions there were of course desertions and splits — a great many. A thousand-odd households, three or four thousand people, had shrunk to under a thousand households, near three thousand, and yet the desertions had somehow not slowed the main body at all. Some small credit for that belonged to Liu Cheng, of course. And this man, now promoted to senior management in the refugee column, could thump his chest and say that his own contribution might be trifling, but the Straw Sandal Centralization Plan he had proposed, and the Straw Section he had set up, had done yeoman service — far more than anyone had imagined. First, of course, the original idea had worked: by controlling straw goods — a necessity of the road — and through them the Straw Section, they had gotten a grip on the column... Straw sandals do not last. Walk eighty or a hundred li, cross a stream, catch a little rain, and they may well fall apart — all the more with Lake Sheyang, that great marsh, lying along the route. So there was nowhere to buy but from Liu Ren Gong. And since no one had money or goods left, they either traded precious grain, or they had to follow Liu Ren Gong's arrangements — or rather Old Liu San's of the East Dike, or even young Liu Cheng's — taking on particular jobs for the column in exchange for tomorrow's sandals. You go help cut firewood, he carries this child for a couple of days; that is how the days went by. Second — not really unexpected, at least not to Liu Cheng — was a side effect: sandal output rose sharply. Small wonder. When skilled weavers like Old Wang no longer had to fret over daily safety for themselves and their families, warmth at night, cooking by day, or finding and preparing their own raw materials, output naturally soared. Liu Cheng had worried that the straw workers would resent it — this amounted to a communal pot, after all — but in fact they were invigorated beyond measure at following Liu Ren Gong directly, as though weaving sandals for the refugee commander were some rare honor. As for the victims and the families of victims who had been gathered in, they were even more tearfully grateful. Old Wang, for one, said again and again that if not for Liu Ren Gong taking them in, he and his granddaughter would have had no way to live; and then he would lead his granddaughter in kowtowing to Liu Ren Gong's household and cry out "my lord!" in public. That was a family volunteering itself into bondservice — and afraid the other party might turn them away. Back to the present. When they reached Guazhou Ferry, an official put on a show of stopping them, saying they were not permitted to cross; but Liu Ren Gong truly had his methods. He went up and negotiated in person and, astonishingly, they were allowed over the river. Across the river they came to the foot of famous Mount Beigu, where Southern Xuzhou's officials were already waiting at the ferry landing. These came over with black faces and delivered a harangue: though the Grand Commander in his virtue permitted you refugees of the Northern Chu to cross, you must be settled in designated places, may only move about the Jingkou area, and must wait for local officials to come and issue you blank household registers; any transgression will be dealt with severely, and so forth. This was said only to Liu Ren Gong; the ordinary refugees could not even hear it, and it was hard to say whom it was meant to warn. Liu Ren Gong remained unruffled. After another exchange, the other party's manner promptly turned excellent, and the authorities plainly altered the arrangements on the spot: after handing out grain once more, they directed the refugee commander to take his people and settle in the emigrant-administered Langya Commandery. "Emigrant administration" refers to what the Great Jin court did after crossing south and losing its original provinces and commanderies: in order to settle, pacify, and manage refugee clans and commoners of the corresponding native places, it established matching administrative divisions within the territory it actually controlled. Xuzhou, for instance, was a great province in the north that had long lain outside the court's control; so around Jingkou they carved out a little Xuzhou, commonly called Southern Xuzhou. Xuzhou had a Langya Commandery, and inside Southern Xuzhou they duly laid out a little Langya Commandery as well. It was said that the Grand General Who Conquers the West, Huan Wen, had in his youth served in this little Langya as its Administrator, an office much like governor, and had even planted a very famous tree at the garrison seat, Jincheng. But this exposed a problem. The Liu Zhi family's ancestral seat was Pengcheng in Xuzhou, and they actually lived where Pengcheng bordered Pei Commandery; there was no reason under heaven to settle them in the emigrant Langya Commandery. Put together with what had happened at Guazhou Ferry and at the foot of Mount Beigu, there had to be some story behind it — only Liu Cheng had no standing to learn the hows and whys. So the crowd followed the local officials' directions along Jingkou Road, first west, then south, until they came to a valley backed by hills, flanked by woods, with a little stream running west — reportedly already inside the emigrant Langya Commandery — and there they pitched camp. As for the hills, Liu Cheng had already guessed: somewhere on the southern slope of what later ages would call the Ningzhen Range, the Baohua, Tangshan, and Fangshan country. The stream that ran west with the lie of the land probably led to the Qinhuai River, and the road they had come down was likely the stretch from Jiankang and Jingkou to Jurong. Only, sixteen hundred years lay between. Never mind that none of the later prosperity existed yet — some people even claimed to have heard a tiger roar on the road between the two hills as they came south. That was unnerving. Everything was in ruins and everything had to be built; penniless as they all were, the whole column's mood visibly lifted once they had a place to stand, as though the great plundering ten days before had never happened. Liu Huzi, for instance, was like a mill donkey cut loose: he vanished at once with a dozen sturdy companions — and had even asked Liu Cheng whether he wanted to come. Go do what? Go where? To do what? Liu Cheng had no idea; before he could ask, Liu Huzi lost patience and simply ran off with his men. Which was convenient enough. Seizing the moment, the boy hurried to submit his new restructuring plan to Liu Ren Gong — plainly set on making his living from straw sandals. "Keep this straw-sandal crew together and do not let go?" Liu Ren Gong was visibly puzzled. "We are not marching anymore. Are sandals still of any use?" "They can be traded at market for sauce, vinegar, oil, and salt," Liu Cheng explained at once. "Ren Gong, we have just arrived with a little grain and nothing else. We can cut our own firewood, but oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar we cannot... While we were running for our lives, we could do without for a few days. How could we stand it now? And on the way here I saw plenty of wayside markets along Jingkou Road, and our sandal output is large. Old Liu San and I can go sell the surplus and trade for sauce and vinegar. Every family we can help is one more." "There is sense in that." Ren Gong nodded. "But in a few days the court will come to issue the registers, and there should be relief goods. Every household can hold out until then. Why do a needless thing?" You still believe in court relief?! Liu Cheng was speechless inside, but his face never changed; he only pressed his case: "What I mean is this: even setting aside that the court may come to issue registers — why would they give us sauce and vinegar? And even if they did, there are a good many widows and orphans in the Straw Section. Keeping them together to earn a little money and feed their children cannot hurt; call it charity. And if you ask me, besides sandals, we should gather up those who are good at weaving mats, because once we put down roots, mats will become scarce goods. It is the same as before: even if the court gives relief — seed, clothes — it will not give mats." Liu Zhi finally gave way, nodding again and again. "Cheng, you are as thorough as ever. I have trusted you all the way here. We will do it your way; you and Third Brother San go and see to it." With the go-ahead, Liu Cheng was delighted, and instantly treated it as a warrant under seal: not only would he keep the Straw Section together, he would carry out market reforms and expand the mat department. The next morning he went off with Old Liu San, hunted up the two wheelbarrows — among the very few the column still possessed — and could hardly wait to get to Jingkou Road and sell off the stock they had brought. It was Liu Ren Gong who thought better of it and had the hurrying Liu Huzi spare two men — to help push the barrows and to serve as guards, which saved them the trouble. Now, Jingkou Road was likely the most important road in the Great Jin these days. It ran along the river with hills at its back, yet kept a good distance from the water. Beginning at the capital Jiankang's northeastern Li Gate, it was lined with the famous Eight Garrisons, Eleven Forts, and Thirty-Three Beacon Towers of Jingkou, and at its end stood the last and greatest of the eight garrisons, and the true seat of Jingkou at the foot of Mount Beigu: Iron Urn Fortress. North of Iron Urn Fortress, across the river, lay Guazhou Ferry; to the south it commanded the Three Wu canal and drew in all the goods and taxes of the Three Wu. The later name Zhenjiang — "garrisoning the river" — came from exactly this. In fact, even now the so-called Southern Xuzhou, the commonly understood extent of Jingkou, and all those military installations were demarcated according to what lay along Jingkou Road, and not the other way around. Even the Gaoping Xi clan, which The Aristocratic Politics of the Eastern Jin ranks just below the four great ruling clans of the dynasty, won sufficient and stable political standing only because Xi Jian — that man of great merit in putting down the old Wang Dun rebellion — made his base in Jingkou. Jingkou was the Gaoping Xi clan's home ground, the root of their unshakable standing, and Jingkou Road was Jingkou's great artery. Some of this Liu Cheng had known before he ever traveled back in time; some he had reasoned out; and most of the basic facts he had picked up at this wayside market where the Jurong road met Jingkou Road. He had said he was coming to sell sandals, but no sooner had they arrived than he went wandering on the pretext of inquiring about prices — asking this one, listening to that one — starting from Jingkou Road itself and working his way to the legendary Xi family. Old Liu San had already sold a dozen-odd pairs at the stall, and he was still out there "inquiring about prices." "The Grand Commander is the Grand Commander, is he not? The Empress Dowager's own father — how could he not be Grand Commander? Jingkou has been under his charge for years." "The Xi family? The ones who count in the Xi family have all gone south to live like immortals. They are not in Jingkou." "The Xies? The Xies do seem to live in Wuyi Lane, same as the Wangs. We have sold firewood over that way. It costs five cash to pass the water gate, and if you cannot sell your load you are stuck... Their young men go about in covered carriages with dozens of pretty courtesans in tow... You see it often enough." "The Wangs... the Wangs are beings out of a fairy tale. How would anyone get a look at them?" "The Northern Garrison troops are right here — Jingkou men, all from Qingzhou and Xuzhou. They were raised back when Minister of Works Xi put down the rebellion." "The Western Garrison is Yuzhou men, raised by copying Jingkou's trick of recruiting refugees. Some of our folk have enlisted there too — we are all from the north, after all... It is not Jingzhou troops. Jingzhou belongs to Grand General Huan." "How would I know why the Western Garrison is not called the Northern Garrison and the Northern Garrison is not called the Eastern Garrison? Are you buying or not?" "That I do know... Back when the court first crossed south and set up its army commands, ours here in Jingkou was the headquarters of the General of the Household of the North, so it got called the Northern Garrison. My father soldiered in it." "The Empress Dowager? Is that something to talk about? How would I know how old the emperor is?" "I know you have just arrived. Stay three or five years and you will know all this better than I do..." You had to admit it: Jingkou might not be proper Jiankang, but it had something of the air of the ground beneath the Son of Heaven. Strike up a few words with anyone at the crossroads market, point at the beacon towers by the distant river for an excuse to ask, and they would all have a few words to say about the Wangs, Huans, Chus, Xies, and Xis. And only now was Liu Cheng's confusion cleared up: what this Grand Commander Chu Pou amounted to was a consort-clan kinsman — the father of the Empress Dowager who held power! And as consort kin, and Grand Commander of the military affairs of five provinces, he was actually named in the same breath as the Wangs, Xies, Xis, and Huans! At least in present popular renown he outshone both the Xis and the Xies; the Xies were even regarded as hangers-on of the Chus. As to why, exactly — the Xies too had risen as consort kin, it seemed, only their connection was one degree more distant than the Chus'. And so it went until the afternoon sun had slanted far west, when Liu Cheng returned, well satisfied, to the stall, and found Old Liu San waiting with a stiff face. "Cheng. Did you go ask about the going price for straw goods?" "No," Liu Cheng said, with a glance at the other sandal-and-mat stall only seven or eight paces off, and shook his head decisively. "I only went to gather news of current affairs." At that, Old Liu San's face lost its earlier stiffness. He only sighed, then asked, "And what did you learn? Did you at least make sure — are we really white-register, exempt from corvée and taxes? Do they give seed for opening wasteland? What do we do about the winter?" Liu Cheng blinked, then spread his hands with a wry smile. "I forgot all that." "Then what did you find out?" Old Liu San's temper rose again. Liu Cheng was unabashed. He cheerfully rattled off everything he had heard — Jingkou's local roads, its military affairs, how the Northern Garrison got its name, and all the gossip about the Wangs, Xies, Chus, and Xis. Old Liu San heard him out with patience, then gave up entirely, touched the corner of his mouth where the scars still showed, and shook his head. "Have it your way." The boy gave a dry laugh and finally settled himself honestly against the big tree behind the sandal stall — though his eyes went right on darting about, as if he wished he could memorize every cart and person that passed and see plainly every vendor's wares. Honestly, though, selling straw goods hardly needed him yet. Whoever came for a pair of sandals would pay three or five cash — three in proper five-zhu coins, five in Shenlang coins privately cast by the great houses of the south — or a sheng or two of millet, one sheng being this year's new southern millet, two being millet three years old or more... Old Liu San was quicker at all that than anyone. Who needed a boy to keep an eye on it? Besides, Old Liu San had already seen through him: the fellow had asked for this errand purely to play about at the market. Boys will be boys. What could you do? So Liu Cheng leaned against the big tree, watched another four or five pairs go, and let his thoughts wander — until at last a customer turned up who interested him. The man was dark of face and leading a horse. He wore a proper kudzu-cloth robe, a single-bridged jinxian cap on his head, a flute at his waist. He was very tall, and a little stooped... All of which made him look like a solid middle-aged scholar-official. Look closely, though, and the robe was already filthy, the cap worn and shabby, his hair coarse and yellowed, and the sandal on his left foot had ripped its core strand open right through the middle and was no use anymore. When he came up and stopped at the stall, you could smell the same sour reek as any other short-jacketed refugee. And because he was wrapped in that robe and had been hurrying along the road in a sweat, the smell was a shade stronger still. "Straw sandals... how much a pair?" He fingered a couple of pairs before he finally spoke, and his voice was rather young. So he only looked old; with shabby clothes, a haggard look, no chance to wash or comb, and above all that slight stoop, he had been taken for a middle-aged man. "Three five-zhu coins, five Shenlang coins, one sheng of new millet, three sheng of old," Liu Cheng spoke up to serve him. "Clothes or cloth will do for trade as well — we have plenty of straw goods, and I will reckon it against the quality... And of course oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, or anything else useful can be traded too." The tall, stooped, old-looking young man considered for a moment, then took a small pouch from behind his waist. He opened it and out rolled a single Shenlang coin. Old Liu San, who had been wearing his trader's smile, changed countenance at once. Helpless, the man produced another pouch and tipped it out: a half-eaten rice ball rolled forth. "We do not want that," Old Liu San said, waving quickly. The man was plainly mortified, and even the two men helping push the barrows exchanged a speechless look — leading a fine sturdy horse, and one coin to his name? Worse off than the rest of us refugees. Liu Cheng had seen it clearly from the start: the saddle and reins were half-new, at odds with the man's clothes. Most likely a horse borrowed from someone. By the look of him he really was a great-clan son, only fallen as far as a man can fall. Just then the man found another item: the half-worn bamboo flute at his waist. Before he could speak, Old Liu San was already waving him off. "If you are willing, the flute will do as trade," Liu Cheng cut in first. "Only we cannot set a value on it, so it is one pair and no more." It was not sympathy; he had just realized that his own persona was a fallen great-clan son, and he naturally ought to feel for one of his own kind — a Camel Xiangzi of the old families. Sure enough, Old Liu San glanced at the boy who had spoken up so unexpectedly, and said nothing more. The old-looking, stooped young man made no sound either, and with that dark face there was no telling whether he reddened. He simply set down the flute, picked up a pair of sandals, and bent his head to change into them. And when he had changed, he still did not go. Instead he asked, curious, "You are a handful of people — how do you have so many sandals to sell?" Here was a fallen great-clan man, rare enough to meet, and Liu Cheng wanted to talk with him, so he told him straight out. He was halfway through when, at the west end of the market, someone suddenly called out something in a hushed, urgent voice; and the market, dulled so long by the afternoon sun, seemed to come alive. Not only the few customers who had paused on the road — the vendors, too, began rolling up their goods, shouldering and dragging them to the roadside. Soon Liu Cheng and the others made out the words: "The blade-and-axe retainers are coming!" At that Old Liu San came to his senses as well. Shouting to his two helpers, he hauled on the straw rope that stringed the sandals and carried them behind the tree, and then the two men each wheeled a barrow around out of sight. Glancing back, he found Liu Cheng still standing there gaping beside that tall pauper, so he hurried over, seized him, and dragged the boy behind the tree. Liu Cheng, who had been peering about with interest, did not refuse his companions' kindness. He only smiled at the tall man standing motionless there, then slipped behind the big tree to watch. In a moment a train of a good dozen vehicles came along Jingkou Road. Ahead and along both flanks were indeed several bondservants with blades and axes, clearing the way. Stranger still, nearly half the covered carriages held several young and beautiful women in fine clothes, and two or three of them did not scruple to throw back the curtains and laugh and point at the vendors standing in hushed retreat by the road. And so the whole market watched the axe-escorted convoy dwindle far off down the road, and only after a long while did it return to order. "We have sold a good many pairs; that will answer for us soon enough. Hurry and trade for oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar, and let us be off!" Old Liu San, still shaken, drew the boy aside behind the tree to confer. Liu Cheng had no objection. So of the two companions who had come with him, one loaded the remaining sandals onto a barrow, and the other went off with Old Liu San, cash in hand, to buy vinegar, cloth, salt, sauce, and such in haste. Liu Cheng, his curiosity uncontainable, seized the chance to ask the tall man in the kudzu robe, "Brother, do these great clans of Jiangnan really let their blade-and-axe men cut people down in the street?" "Actually, so long as you do not jostle them, these blade-and-axe men mostly do not cut anyone down nowadays," the kudzu-robed man said with a cold smile, holding his horse. "Take the master of today's convoy especially. Look at those courtesans flaunting themselves through the streets, and those covered carriages of the sort only recluses use, and reckon the timing — it must be that famous gentleman of the Xie family from the Eastern Mountain, his mourning done, on his way back to Kuaiji to enjoy himself..." Liu Cheng caught the mockery in "nowadays," "mostly," and "recluse," and was still smiling along with it — until the man's last words. Then he gaped for a long moment and blurted out, "That was Xie An who just went past?!" The kudzu-robed man finally dropped his folded arms and studied the boy before him in earnest. "You know of Xie Anshi? I have not asked your name." "You are older than I am, brother. It is I who should ask first," Liu Cheng said, hastily bowing with hands clasped. "I was rude before." "Liu Lang, of the Pengcheng Lius. Capped all these years and I still have only my childhood name, Jili, doing duty as a style. Call me Liu Jili." The stooped man, looking down from his height, returned the salute with dignity. Liu Cheng, who a moment ago had been stunned that Xie An had passed within a dozen paces of him, was now truly at a loss: Why was everyone named Liu? And all of them Pengcheng Lius? Had Jingkou gone and stirred up a Pengcheng Liu nest?!