Just as day was breaking, Liu Cheng, bare-chested, woke with a start from a wave of cold.
This time he did not leap straight up as usual, but lay in his very own straw nest, staring blankly at the "roof" over his head, propped up on two forked branches... This was his "room," and every last detail of it proclaimed the special standing he now held in the refugee band.
This was no joke; it was an objective description.
The straw pile beneath him was itself a treasure of collective wealth for the band — raw material for the most common goods of the Straw Section. And to protect this precious straw, the pile had been sited on a small rise deep in the camp, with a stream behind and to one side; it had even had roughly two walls piled up of tree forks and stones, and a shelter above built on a frame of branches.
In a word: dry, ventilated, safe, and warm — and to some degree proof against fire and rain.
Even in an army, that would have been a private room reserved for the clerk in charge of provisions and fodder — let alone in a refugee band where every man had barely the clothes on his back.
And yet even in this top-of-the-line dwelling, the nights had turned cold. One could only say the pressure of survival was surging back.
In theory, so long as he could keep the weaving team for straw sandals and mats together, basic survival was no problem. The trouble was, when the nest overturns no egg stays whole — if the whole refugee band collapsed, by what right could he, Liu Cheng, hold that team together?
Liu Ren Gong could manage it. Liu Cheng could not.
Unless, when Liu Ren Gong abandoned the rest of these refugees, he proved willing to take him along for the sake of the straw-sandal team's value.
That was no idle fancy. In truth, Liu Cheng had already sensed something of Liu Ren Gong's mind. This refugee commander was listless to the bone, dodging at the first hint of trouble, without an ounce of the drive it would take to turn all the manpower in his hands into something big and strong... The only reason he had lasted until now was that custom in these years ran so: short of the worst extremity, he could hardly bring himself to break with his fellow villagers and kinsmen of the same surname.
But if it truly came to that — even if the man did mean to keep him on — what would he count for, going over? A bondservant in that man's house?
Besides, his original plan had been to borrow a hen to lay eggs: to save money and to gather people, and gathering people was the very heart of it. If he truly left these refugees and stood alone, in what year could he ever raise a fortified manor of his own?
Of course, it was early yet to be thinking of this. The situation had not reached that point, and who could say — perhaps Ren Gong's old friend would prove a great help, and things would hold.
At that thought he finally rolled over and sat up from the straw pile, drawing his clothes on with care — he slept bare-chested not for comfort, but for fear of wearing through his only tunic.
Dressed, he hopped down from the pile, went first to the stream to rinse his mouth and relieve himself, then made for the central camp. The first person he met was Brother Qi, up early to feed his sheep for fear of holding up the straw-pounding — the man who, having been hurt and beaten back then, had likewise been gathered into the mat-and-sandal team.
Liu Cheng greeted him with a smile first.
The two were, after all, among the closest acquaintances in this band, so even a dutiful soul like Brother Qi managed a faint smile — and as it faded he could not help asking: "A Cheng, how is it you smile every single day? These past days the whole camp has been more at a loss by the day; every one of us is worried half to death."
"When the sky means to rain and we have no roof, we get soaked crying all the same as laughing... better to laugh." Liu Cheng did his best to comfort him. "Besides, when the cart reaches the mountain, a road will open — no call to panic. Ren Gong has been asking people for help lately."
At this the middle-aged man forced out another laugh, then just went to look at his sheep, grazing away.
Liu Cheng paused, then went on, still smiling: "Brother Qi, weren't you wanting to take a wife? There are plenty of widows in the band now, and you're a hard worker — you might get yourself a wife without needing a betrothal sheep, and then raise sheep together. How fine would that be? And if you found one who had a sheep of her own, sheep bearing sheep and more sheep — in a few years the two of you would be sheep-raising moneybags... Though by your nature, you'd have to start by talking to people more, and helping them with their work."
The middle-aged man went scarlet to the ears and only waved his hand.
A little interlude, hardly worth the telling. Liu Cheng gave up teasing him and hurried on to the center of camp — the great fire where Liu Ren Gong's whole family stayed. Beginning with Liu Ren Gong himself and down through the several able bondservants of the Liu house, he bowed and greeted each one in turn — his way of clocking in for the day — then went off to check the materials... chiefly wild hemp, dry grass, and some tree vines, together with a pile of straw pounded soft the day before as pre-processing.
Everything accounted for, he cadged breakfast off Liu Ren Gong's fifty-strong household.
And it truly was a household of fifty and more: under Liu Zhi — Liu Ren Gong himself — three sons, two daughters-in-law, five grandchildren, four daughters; even two sons-in-law had come along, bringing three grandchildren by the daughters; then a cousin with a whole family of twenty-one, and two nephews with families of nine and of eight — and that was without counting the bondservants.
In fact, apart from Liu Zhi's family, the camp held a good two or three hundred households surnamed Liu, all of them distant kin of his who had lived together before in two or three walled enclosures at the meeting of Pengcheng and Pei Commandery. So if he had the heart for it, nothing could be more natural than to take these two or three hundred households as his base and go on to control the manpower of these seven or eight hundred households.
Say the word and they served as soldiers; say the word and they opened up land to till; say the word and they wove straw sandals.
The prestige of such a house made Liu Cheng's eyes burn with envy — and there lay the whole reason for his "borrowing a hen to lay eggs," and for this morning's worry over the road ahead.
Without a proper man of the lower great clans as refugee commander, you simply could not hold people together; and a cowardly refugee commander was hard to find even with a lantern in hand — the perfect host for borrowing a hen to lay eggs. Only, a coward past the proper measure was, as it now appeared, no blessing either.
After breakfast, Liu Huzi came pressing his father to go call on that Garrison Commander Gao.
But Liu Zhi told his son that although they had old ties, it would not do to turn up at the man's gate unbidden; the eldest must first go present a calling card. There was nothing for it — the cards had been lost long since on the road — so they had to improvise, finding blocks of wood and carving characters into them to make two; only by midday, after all that fuss, was the eldest son on his way.
But good news there was: the man returned at dusk saying he had seen Garrison Commander Gao in person, and the commander had made no great excuses — only said that military affairs kept him busy these two days, but after noon the day after tomorrow he would be free, and asked Liu Ren Gong to come meet him then.
Naturally Liu Zhi was pleased to hear it, and Liu Cheng, Old Liu San, and the rest nearby were pleased as well — though for people of that sort it all amounted to waiting to watch the show. They simply kept to their routine, organizing the weaving of straw sandals and mats, going on selling along Jingkou Road, and sending men out to scout the markets roundabout.
Worth mentioning: the next day at the market there was no sign of Liu Jili at all — no telling whether the competition from Liu Cheng's crowd had squeezed him out of any living and sent him off to try elsewhere, or whether, failing to meet his KPIs, he had simply been "optimized away" by the refugee commander behind him.
And in a blink, the appointed day arrived. Liu Ren Gong's cousin pleaded a bad back early on and would not go, but the three sons and four nephews (two of them cousins' sons) plus the two sons-in-law were all in fine fettle, sprucing themselves up as best they could.
At first they brought out the deer-fur robe from the bottom of the chest; but one look at the blazing sun and they dutifully put it back, changing into the ordinary summer gowns of kudzu cloth they usually wore. Then Ren Gong himself set a single-beam jinxian cap on his head, while the sons and nephews sorted themselves out — some in jinxian caps, some in small warrior's caps — and one son-in-law who truly could not find a cap anywhere simply wound a headwrap about his head.
Once they were properly turned out, Liu Ren Gong urged his eldest daughter-in-law to open a chest and brought out two bolts of silk in decent condition.
At this point Old Liu San began acting on his own initiative again: he had long since called up twenty or thirty of the best young men in camp, every one with a bow in hand, and rounded up the last seven or eight scrawny horses and short mules — only to be waved off by Liu Zhi and told to disperse.
By that man's reckoning, this was leaving home behind to ask a favor, not going off to join the army — what need of so many people?
Yet even a handful of nearest kin would not do, for there were only four horses, and one mule had to carry the silk bolts. Were the rest to ride mangy donkeys that could barely pull a cart, or go on foot?
Of course, Liu Cheng, watching from the side, saw it plainly: at bottom, Liu Ren Gong had been robbed and had nothing decent to offer as a gift. Going giftless yet bringing so many people would look awkward — hence naming four horses and fixing a limit.
Liu Ren Gong's sons-in-law were ruled out first; then several nephews, plainly unwilling to yield, tried sharing mounts with Liu Zhi's sons and failed at that too... These days were hard: the few horses they had smilingly begged to keep that day on the river were all poor nags, and one nag's back simply could not carry two grown men.
Driven to it, and it being unbefitting to arrive on foot, the nephews had no choice but to climb down and stay meekly behind in camp with their hands clasped, gazing after the riders with longing eyes.
Yet, from some thought of his own, just before they set out Liu Ren Gong looked all around and suddenly picked out Liu Cheng, who stood by with his flute in hand, watching the excitement: "A Cheng, you're small of frame — you should manage to share a horse with A Hu, shouldn't you?"
Liu Cheng felt not delight but a jolt of alarm, and hurried forward to explain: "Ren Gong, I'm young and can't ride at all. Let's be off quickly and not delay the business — I've still to apportion the mats on my end!"
Liu Ren Gong, mounted, and Old Liu San, on the ground, all but spoke at the same moment — but before either could, the impatient Liu Huzi, at some point having reined in behind Liu Cheng, simply reached down and hauled him up. Liu Cheng dared not struggle in earnest... partly for fear of causing trouble, and partly because he owned one pair of coarse trousers and one coarse short tunic, and if they tore in the scuffle he would have nothing to wear. All he could do was spring up after the hand and land behind Liu Huzi, the two of them sharing one horse.
With that, nobody said anything more.
Seeing the matter settled, Liu Zhi hesitated no longer. With the eldest son as guide, the party rode straight out of camp. Only, right as they were leaving, Liu Cheng found his opening: head-on came his companion Big Liu — the very man who had stripped himself naked on the river that day — carrying a great bundle of firewood, and Liu Cheng seized the moment to toss his bamboo flute to him. His insides, all the same, went on churning.
For the truth was, this fellow was afraid of being taken by Liu Zhi for an entertainer — perhaps even sold off then and there to the garrison town as a military bondservant!
That truly would have been a hell-difficulty opening.
To say nothing of the transmigrator, who couldn't tell a kind heart when he met one, and all his wild imaginings — to the matter itself: five people riding four horses, a mule tethered behind; though they dared not let the horses fly, it was far faster than the usual walking. They reached Jingkou Road first, then traveled along the river, and before noon arrived at a garrison post beside the river.
There was none of the little-devils-barring-the-gate drama, though the whole party looked somewhat bedraggled... The reason could not have been simpler: the soldiers of the post were refugees themselves, come only two years earlier. Of course they knew this was a refugee commander newly arrived in Jiangnan, come to call on a refugee commander of their own who held official rank — to say nothing of their master Garrison Commander Gao having given instructions long before.
Sure enough, Garrison Commander Gao Jian was said to be checking over arms and equipment; he merely had men usher the old friend into the hall first, meaning to share a meal shortly. Liu Ren Gong had nothing to say against it, and led the four others to the hall to wait.
Once there, Liu Ren Gong sat first, the three sons sat too, and Liu Cheng in his coarse short tunic — incredible as it seems — slipped in among them as well, silently finding a seat behind Liu Huzi. He had it all worked out: if presently this Garrison Commander Gao pointed a finger and told him to scram, he would scram; but if nobody told him to scram, he would stay exactly where he was.
But if they truly meant to have him perform — actually brought up a flute before him — then what? Would he have to grit his teeth and refuse?
Garrison Commander Gao did not keep them long in suspense. Before noon several men in iron lamellar vests and warrior's caps appeared at the front of the hall, startling Liu Ren Gong to his feet; he bowed with due solemnity to the man at their head there in the hall, and the two fell to clasping hands and trading courtesies.
Liu Cheng naturally rose with Liu Zhi's three sons to make his bow — yet stole glances all the while at Garrison Commander Gao. The man was a good deal younger than Liu Zhi, only some thirty or forty to look at him; his face stayed grave throughout, without half a smile, and with the iron lamellar vest still not doffed, he truly did have the air of a soldier.
When the courtesies were done, Liu Ren Gong went on to present his sons, who addressed him all alike as "Uncle"; but this Garrison Commander Gao likewise showed no warmth through it all, merely nodding, until Liu Huzi was plainly restless.
When it came to Liu Cheng, though he too bowed his head and said "Uncle," perhaps because he was dressed so poorly, this man actually gave him a longer look.
"This is a young kinsman of our Pengcheng Liu clan; his family lived in Qiao Commandery. On this journey south his whole clan went down, and he alone escaped with his life and fell in with us." Liu Zhi hesitated a moment, then forced the introduction out.
"A kinsman of Ren Gong's? Then let him sit with the rest." Before Liu Cheng could open his mouth again, Gao Jian nodded at once — plainly without the least interest: no interest in making difficulties for him, and no interest in raising him up either.
The gathering of Lius grew only more uneasy and took their seats one after another. Liu Cheng's face never changed, but within he was delighted, for riding on Liu Ren Gong's credit, yet another pillar of the great clans had acknowledged his identity... If this went on, it would take only eight or ten such men acknowledging him for his standing as a fallen gentleman of the great clans to be secure; then, even if he could never hold office, making his fortune under a great-clan name would be sound enough.
In that case, playing them a new tune afterward would be no great matter.
But soon the dishes were laid out, and almost everyone put their thoughts away and let themselves relax.
Not that the fare was at all lavish — quite the opposite, it was nothing much: no wine, just wild greens, millet rice, and bean soup. There was indeed one small wild pheasant, and that was divided fairly in half — half for Gao Jian, half for Liu Zhi; everyone else, including the two low-ranking officers surnamed Gao seated across, and even Liu Cheng in his coarse short tunic, got none — and were all treated alike!
This was etiquette observed properly.
There was no help for it: in these disordered times between north and south, some were poor and some rich — and today's poor were tomorrow's rich. True hospitality had never been a matter of how many cold dishes and how many hot, of whether to serve chicken, duck, fish, or meat, or whether to fix a bowl of noodle soup; it was a matter of fairness between host and guest.
What the host ate, the guest ate too — that was the greatest courtesy there was.
Of course, Liu Cheng knew nothing of this as yet. But having been allowed a seat in the first place, and now tasting the year's new millet for the first time, he found it uncommonly sweet and fragrant, and his mood was better even than Liu Huzi and his brothers'.
When the meal ended, several others in the same coarse tunics — bondservants or hired laborers, who could tell — came and carried off the bowls and chopsticks, licked nearly clean. Among them was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, black of face, hands covered in calluses; he had not been noticed when the dishes were served, and now, probably because he saw that one of the guests actually wore the same coarse tunic and trousers, he could not help giving Liu Cheng several extra looks — and the latter could only answer with a smile.
Chapter 9