Volume One: Is There Any Road for Humanity in a World of Chaos? 9. Infighting III

The Bitterness Remembrance Assembly was an overwhelming success.

The greatest credit belonged to Wen Huaguo, who was the first to take the stage and completely roused the enthusiasm of the soldiers. Standing atop the hastily built platform, facing the soldiers filling the entire threshing ground, he began, “Brothers, we haven’t been together for long. Many among you should already know me.”

He paused, his voice deep and resonant, “My surname is Wen, as in ‘man of letters.’”

The words, coming from a burly, rough-looking man, had a comic effect. The crowd burst into laughter. When the laughter died down, Wen Huaguo continued, “In the tenth year of Zhizheng, the Yellow River burst its banks and could not be contained for five years, flooding thousands of li. In my family, there were eight souls—seven starved to death.”

The crowd grew quiet. Wen Huaguo asked, “Are there any men of Jiaozhou here?”

Several hands rose. Wen Huaguo cupped his fists, saying, “Then we are half-countrymen. You know, my brothers and I used to be horse bandits. We swore brotherhood, ten of us, and the tenth was one of your own from Jiaozhou.” His tone fell, “But he’s already dead, ambushed by the Mongols. Even with his belly torn open, he fought on! You men of Jiaozhou are all brave—he was just like you, a true man!”

The gathering fell silent. Wen Huaguo paused and wiped a tear from his eye. “Let’s not speak of that. Let’s talk about the great flood of the tenth year. He told me—he saw with his own eyes, in your city of Jiaozhou, people stealing the corpses of the starved by night and boiling them to eat. Even so, grain taxes were still levied, and silver taxes collected. No grain, no money? Then sell your sons and daughters. When they’re all gone, sell yourself! Brothers, why did we rebel? Is it not because we can no longer endure this dog’s life? The Mongols have made living impossible!”

A few Jiaozhou men felt this keenly, and not only them. Mr. Guan’s men mostly hailed from Anhui and Henan, Wang Shicheng’s from Shandong—places neighboring each other, all suffering the same hardships when the Yellow River burst its banks.

“Curse those Mongol dogs!” someone muttered. More voices joined, growing from a murmur to an earth-shaking roar.

Wen Huaguo calmed them. “Brothers, truth be told, ever since I entered this village, I’ve felt a sense of kinship. This village is wonderful—it’s almost identical to my own Wen family village.”

How different could northern villages be? Nearly all the soldiers nodded, feeling Wen Huaguo’s words deeply.

Hearing this, Deng She felt relieved. Wen, fourth of his name, was rough but shrewd. Had he only ever played the brute, he would not have lived this long. When they were bandits, scouting rich targets was almost always left to him, and he had several times infiltrated households to collaborate from within. Letting him speak first was the right choice.

Wen Huaguo smoothly shifted from this village to his own, recalling elders’ faces and voices, then cursing the Mongols, then sighing over the present ruin. With a few words, he stirred the soldiers to curse the Mongols again. Then, a twist—he wondered aloud what had become of Wen family village now.

As the soldiers fell into memories and thoughts of home, he brought them back to the present: in this chaos of war, may Heaven spare their villages from disaster.

Having said his piece, he stepped down and called for the next. The soldiers’ emotions rose; they were eager. The assembly continued through the afternoon. At dusk, they had vented their feelings, many in tears, weeping like glass trumpets. Their gazes toward Deng She had also changed significantly.

The first instance of internal unrest seemed to have been lightly subdued. Deng San praised Deng She endlessly for his cleverness. The Bitterness Remembrance Assembly was a tactic some Red Turban generals had used, but always to unite the troops and enflame hatred for the Mongols, rarely as a means to instill discipline.

To do the same thing spontaneously or consciously produces entirely different results. Yet both Deng San and Deng She knew the matter with Monk Li was far from over. He was now the most unstable element in their ranks—a viper in the grass, ready to strike again.

How to resolve this completely? Both pondered.

Night fell. The soldiers, in teams of ten, lined up for their rations from the makeshift cooks. Over a dozen villagers were confined in a large courtyard under guard. Deng She gave orders for his personal guards to bring them food as well. As for the woman Deng San had brought, she too was sent to that courtyard.

The night air was bone-chilling. The snow on the village roads, trampled by men and horses, had turned to mire—each step sank into mud. On one side, houses loomed in darkness; on the other, the cold moonlight revealed their outlines. Eaves and flying corners, dark silhouettes tangled with weeds, grew ever blacker as night deepened.

Apart from the soldiers’ clamor and the neighing of horses, nothing disturbed the night.

Deng She stood in the courtyard and took a deep breath. He had not felt such peace in a long time. The killing, the blood, the day’s busy intrigues—all were swept away by the night wind, leaving him involuntarily lost in thought. Of what, he did not know.

But he savored this trance.

Until the urgent sound of hooves startled him awake. The rider was approaching from outside the village—likely an outpost or a returning scout. Deng She listened closely; the horse came fast, his first thought was that Yuan soldiers were upon them. He grabbed his spear. Without a word, his guards efficiently armed him.

He swung onto his horse and rode straight out of the courtyard. He saw Deng San, Wen Huaguo, and Guan Second Brother all galloping out from their lodgings.

Under the moonlight, their armor was dark, made darker still by the stains of blood—blood that had seeped so deeply into the iron no amount of scrubbing could erase its mark.

“What’s going on?” Deng San, in the lead, confronted the scout charging into the village.

The scout was an old comrade, his horse fast. As he reached Deng San, he calmly pulled the reins, bringing his mount to a steady halt. He dismounted. “Elder Chen is back.”

Chen Hu was not alone—he had brought two hundred cavalrymen and an important figure among the Red Turbans.

The cavalry and the important person waited outside the village; Chen Hu entered alone. Without time to recount his journey, he spoke urgently, “Boss! Gather the troops—move at once! There’s a thousand-strong Mongol detachment right on our heels! I burned the bridge at the Black River to delay them—at most we have two hours.”

Since joining the Red Turbans, he usually called Deng San “Commander” and himself “your humble servant.” It had nothing to do with intimacy—they were still sworn brothers, ready to live or die together. But his reserved, cautious, and serious nature always made him precise. If one day Deng San led them back to their old trade, he would unhesitatingly revert to “Boss.”

Now, those who knew him understood—only in grave emergencies would he forget himself and call Deng San “Boss,” refer to himself as “I.”

Deng San instantly grasped the gravity of the situation. The bugle sounded, standards were raised, and messengers raced through the village. There was no time for greetings. With a hurried smile, Deng She, Wen Huaguo, and Guan Second Brother rode off to rally their men. Only when the troops were assembling did Deng San ask for details.

Chen Hu caught his breath, a little calmer: “With me are two hundred twelve cavalry, all men of Xu Jizu, subordinate to Xu Ten-Thousand of Dongsheng. Among them is a crucial figure—Marshal Wang’s wife.”

Why was Wang Shicheng’s wife in Xu Jizu’s camp? That involved the backgrounds of Xu Jizu and Wang Shicheng. Simply put, Xu Jizu was Wang’s brother-in-law; neither of them were Liu Futong’s core Red Turbans but hailed from Xiao County, under the command of Sesame Li and Zhao Junyong.

In the twelfth year of Zhizheng, Sesame Li was defeated and killed by Yuan forces; Zhao Junyong fled to Haozhou, his power much diminished. Left with no choice, he nominally submitted to the Little Ming King and claimed allegiance to the Song regime.

In Liu Futong’s three-pronged northern campaign, the western army from Shandong, led by Mao Gui, was under Zhao Junyong. Wang Shicheng and Xu Jizu were generals under Mao Gui. In other words, they were not Liu Futong’s core men, nor truly subordinates of Mr. Guan, but at best auxiliary forces.

That was why, in the previous temple council, Yellow Mule Brother preferred Deng San over Monk Li as commander.

These intricacies were clear to an old Red Turban like Deng San. He paid little attention to this so-called Lady Wang and pressed for news of Yunnei and Dongsheng.

Chen Hu sighed, “Both prefectures have fallen. Passing through Yunnei, the Mongols were slaughtering the city. Dongsheng’s fate was surely no better.” He gave a bitter smile. “If not for their preoccupation with plundering during the massacre, leaving only a thousand to pursue us, your humble servant might never have seen you again.”

“How did you escape?”

“After the woods, I first went to Yunnei to warn Wang Shicheng. He sent a few men with me to Dongsheng. Xu Jizu acted quickly, but the Mongols were faster. As soon as the troops gathered and left the city, they ran into Mongol cavalry and were routed. I was in Dongsheng at the time, resting in the central tent as arranged by Xu Jizu.

“So I got word early and broke through with the guards protecting Lady Wang and Xu’s family. I suspect with both prefectures lost, Fengzhou cannot be saved. With nowhere to go and not knowing your whereabouts, I headed to Shangdu. By chance, on the way, I met your search party, so we came together.”

He added, still shaken, “Xu Jizu’s family didn’t escape with me—we were scattered in the breakout. That Mongol cavalry was ferocious. We started with a thousand—now just over two hundred remain. The highest-ranking officer, a commander of a thousand, is gravely wounded, lying on a stretcher outside the village—likely won’t live long.”

The cavalry that crushed Xu Jizu’s force was likely the same that Deng San and his men had encountered.

Deng San grunted, unconcerned with that detail. “Whose troops are pursuing you?”

“Hard to say—no banners.” Chen Hu paused, his tone grave. “We clashed with their vanguard once. All Mongols. They might be the Tammaji.”

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1. In the ninth year of Zhizheng, March, famine in Jiaozhou drove men to cannibalism.

2. In the eleventh year, Sesame Li, Old Peng, Zhao Junyong, and others, with only eight men, seized the vital town of Xuzhou. Under false pretenses as river laborers, they entered the city overnight. Half entered by force, half remained outside. At the fourth watch, four fires were set within, four more outside. The attackers joined, shouting in unison, and the people surrendered without resistance. By dawn, their banner flew high; they recruited an army of a hundred thousand in a day, built floating bridges, and quickly took neighboring counties. The court called it “rebellion,” but Toqtogh, the Yuan chancellor, annotated it as “the Han of Henan rebel.” The discerning knew the Yuan could no longer hold the realm. Could all Han in Henan be exterminated?

3. In the twelfth year of Zhizheng, Chancellor Toqtogh led troops to attack Xuzhou. “Yuan History” records: The next day, the city fell, Sesame Li fled, their banners and stores seized, false commanders executed, the city put to the sword. Even sixteen years later, in the Ming Empire, Xuzhou remained a wasteland of bones and weeds, ruined walls haunted by foxes and wolves.

4. Zhao Junyong, from Xiao County in northern Huai, was a local leader. He joined Sesame Li’s uprising in 1351, later fled to Haozhou, and fell out with Guo Zixing. In 1356, after taking Huai’an, Little Ming King made him provincial vice commander. For years he fought between the Huai and Si, calling himself King Yongyi in 1357.

“Annals of the Ming”: Commander Peng and Zhao Junyong, with their remaining men, joined Guo Zixing in Haozhou. The remnants from Xuzhou merged to defend the region, but soon all yielded to Guo’s authority.

5. Tammaji—the “Scout Cavalry.” From the time of Bolod Temur’s ancestor, generations served as scout cavalry officers, fighting in Sichuan and suppressing minorities. “Scout Cavalry” means “advance horse” or vanguard. In the Mongol state, the best soldiers were picked from all units, serving as elite vanguard in battles, then stationed as garrisons in conquered regions. In the north, four great Mongol military governorates each commanded ten to twenty thousand men, totaling over fifty thousand. Members included Mongols, Central Asians, and a few Han Chinese.

Notably, a Tammaji centurion could command a thousand in Han armies, while their sons could be centurions. Under the Yuan, Han and surrendered Song troops could bear arms only in battle—Mongols and Tammaji were exempt from this restriction. Even among Tammaji, Han could not carry bows or weapons; only Mongols and Central Asians, with permits, could do so. The Mongols repeatedly confiscated Han weapons for Tammaji custody—a mark of trust.

Were it not for the chaos at the end of the Yuan, and the corruption of the Mongol cavalry, Han soldiers in Yuan service would never have borne arms except in battle.

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1. Haozhou.

At the time, Guo Zixing and others were in Haozhou.