Volume Two: I Come to Shake the Heavens Chapter Five: Strict Discipline Ⅱ

Brother Yellow Mule, Chen Plaque, Yang Wanhui, and others had all arrived as well. With over a dozen men assembled indoors, the room felt crowded and full. According to rank and closeness, they arrayed themselves in four lines. Brother Yellow Mule stood alone at the front, clasped his hands, and said, “Greetings, Commander.” He glanced at Deng She’s neck and continued, “The commander’s fortune and destiny are indeed great. Thankfully, your armor stopped the arrow from piercing deeper. To see you healthy once more brings us great joy.” Though he spoke of joy, not a trace of it could be seen on his face.

“Gentlemen, please be seated.” The room lacked enough chairs, so the guards brought in a large straw mat. Chen Plaque and Yang Wanhui sat at the rear—both held the lowest ranks present. Even so, the lowest among those present was a deputy centurion; their attendance was permitted only due to their merit in breaching the city.

Deng She did not mind Brother Yellow Mule’s demeanor. He said, “Having taken Twin Cities, we have found ourselves a temporary foothold. This victory came thanks to your unity and valor. The record of meritorious deeds is clear, and I shall reward all meritorious service accordingly.” He paused, then continued, “Yet though the city has fallen, our foundation here is unsteady. We are alone in a foreign land, surrounded by formidable foes. We must strive even harder—never grow arrogant or complacent.”

The assembled generals resoundingly agreed.

Deng She ordered his guards to move a chair to his bedside and asked, “For the fall of Twin Cities, who claims first merit?”

He Guangxiu leapt to his feet, hands folded, and proclaimed, “The general himself led from the front, rousing the troops’ spirits. The city’s fall is first owed to you, sir.”

Deng She shook his head. “What merit do I have? I ignored wise counsel and nearly cost us the victory—thus, not only did I not earn merit, but I bear great fault. It was Master Hong who devised our strategy, guided us, and presented the city’s defensive plans, allowing us to fully grasp the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. That is the greatest merit. Master Hong is away on business, but his contribution is duly noted.

“Next, Centurion Yang risked his life at the forefront, the first to scale the city wall, showing no fear of death. Though forced back by the enemy’s strength, he later braved arrows and stones, set the gate ablaze, and broke through. On the blood-soaked battlefield he was a tiger from the woods, unstoppable. Let this be the second merit.

“At that time, the armies were deadlocked; our men had repeatedly tried to scale the walls but failed, and were exhausted. General Zhang, calm in the face of danger, led by example. He shattered the enemy’s formidable weapons—his iron spear moved like a dragon from the sea, slaying countless enemy officers and soldiers. At last, he broke through, seized the wall, and turned the tide, inspiring our men. This is the third merit.”

He rose from his bed, solemnly gestured to Yang and Zhang to take seats near him, and said sincerely, “Without you two, there would be no Twin Cities. Please sit.”

Yang Wanhui bounded up, ignored Chen Plaque’s attempt to restrain him, and strode through the ranks to the chairs, saluting Deng She before plopping down. Zhang Daier, deeply moved, knelt before Deng She. “Your deep kindness, General, brings me to tears.” He stood, saluted the generals, skirted around the mat, and sat down.

The rest of the generals sat behind, while these two sat prominent in front—a great honor indeed. Monk Li’s eyes burned with envy, Guan Shirong feigned composure, Luo Guoqi inwardly admired Deng She’s tactics; Brother Yellow Mule’s gaze wandered, repeatedly flicking to Deng She’s wound.

“These merits deserve great reward. Centurion Yang is promoted one rank to deputy centurion, and together with Centurion Chen, will lead three hundred of their exiles as deputy to General Zhang; General Zhang is granted silver. As for further rewards, these will be submitted to Lord Guan for final approval.”

For Zhang Daier, such rewards mattered little. He was a man of honor and loyalty—Deng She had continually shown him distinction, and as the saying goes, a soldier dies for his confidant. He no longer considered his life his own.

Other meritorious officers were reported by their respective commanders and tallied by Chen Hu, after which Deng She distributed rewards. He also singled out the eight hundred veteran soldiers: those who distinguished themselves received double rewards; those who did not, were given wine and meat in encouragement. All these veterans were now officers, mostly decurions, the backbone of this force.

The surrounding counties and prefectures remained inactive. Deng She ordered vigilance—whether or not there was news, scouts must report three times daily. He then had Chen Hu expand the scouting range by another hundred li, and told He Guangxiu to send trusted agents disguised as locals to neighboring counties to gather intelligence.

Finally, he raised Hong Jixun’s suggestion: Wen Huaguo should lead his troops out of the city to camp. Twin Cities was mountainous, and it was not hard to find land by the water and backed by hills. With Wen Huaguo went Monk Li, Guan Shirong, and Luo Guoqi, with a combined force of five thousand. Chen Hu, Zhang Daier, and He Guangxiu, with another four thousand, garrisoned outside the city and began constructing a grand parade ground for training. Within the city, only Deng She’s own regiment, Zhao Guo’s, and the Lu brothers’ troops remained, totaling just over four thousand.

Thus, the army was divided into three camps within ten li of each other—close enough for mutual support while solving the problem of the city’s small size, which could not accommodate them all, and reducing disturbance to the populace. This also aided their defense.

The city walls had suffered heavy damage in the assault and had not been repaired during the three days of massacre. Now, repairs were a priority. The captured Korean civilians were rewarded with money, silk, wine, and meat; the old and weak were sent home, while the able-bodied, along with thousands of strong men from the city, were pressed into urgent repair work.

Wen Huaguo’s and Chen Hu’s camps also needed laborers for faster construction, and Deng She agreed. These camps, unlike those built on the march, required moats, defensive stakes, high walls, and watchtowers—even the tents had to be built of earth and stone, not just canvas.

He also had Chen Hu find several literate, reliable men from the army to assign to Wu Henian, helping build the administrative office of Twin Cities. Chen Hu was not entirely trusting of Wu Henian. “General, Wu is just a surrendered official. Since joining us, he’s acted like a spineless toady, lacking all ambition. Isn’t it unwise to make him chief administrator?”

“Master Wu does have ability. I’ve spoken with him at length; when it comes to civil affairs, there’s no one better in our ranks. How about this: he’s chief administrator, but you, General Chen, will supervise him. Will that suffice?” Deng She respected Chen Hu’s opinion and offered a compromise.

Chen Hu raised no further objections.

As they spoke, a centurion on patrol arrived to report. He served under Zhao Guo and had just returned. Some soldiers had violated the order against drawing blades. Normally, Zhao Guo would handle such matters, but Deng She had strictly commanded that all violations be reported directly, not handled privately. Among the offenders was a veteran promoted to centurion for valor in the last battle.

Wen Huaguo waved his hand dismissively. “So what if the dead are just Koreans? He’s an old brother—drag him out, give him a few dozen lashes, and be done.”

Most generals agreed. Guan Duo’s discipline was strict by Red Turban standards, but in such cases, the worst punishment was usually a beating or harsh words. Most centurions and captains had brought men from their own villages, so except for insubordination or cowardice, serious punishments like execution were rare.

Zhao Guo remained silent, waiting for Deng She’s decision.

“We’re discussing military affairs,” Deng She said calmly. “Take them away and hold them under guard. We’ll deal with them later.” Then, to Chen Hu: “The parade ground must be completed quickly. Now that we have a foothold, training the troops is urgent.

“Also, I hear from Chief Wu that most farmland around Twin Cities belonged to wealthy Korean clans, many of whom died in the massacre. I’ve ordered him to tally the vacant fields. For your hard work, Generals Wen and Chen will each receive a hundred mu of land; every centurion, fifty mu; each deputy centurion, ten mu. You may summon tenants to farm them. In future, when we take other cities, the same system applies, adjusted by city size. Half the remaining land will go to Han and allied families; the rest, if already farmed by poor Koreans, let them keep it, all with proper land deeds.

“As for surviving Korean landowners who surrender, their holdings remain unchanged and must not be seized. Any who resist shall be executed, their families enslaved, property confiscated, and their land distributed for military use, with He Guangxiu selecting soldiers and Korean serfs to farm it.”

Being exiles in enemy territory, over time homesickness would inevitably grow; thus, having land made all the difference, bringing a sense of settlement.

Distinguishing between Korean gentry and commoners was a long-term strategy. Deng She dared not underestimate the power of the landowning elite. He’d seen that every successful rebel leader—Zhang Shicheng, Xu Shouhui, Ming Yuzhen, Fang Guozhen—won over the gentry and treated scholars well.

Even the Little Ming King and Liu Futong, who despised the gentry, still had many scholars in their courts. The first Grand Chancellor, Du Zundao, was once a Yuan official. Guan Duo, his superior, was also a scholar. Liu Futong himself was from a wealthy family.

Thus, Deng She had no intention of exterminating all Korean landlords in the city. Allocating half the land to Han and allied tribes was to strengthen his base; giving land to poor Koreans was to win popular support.

He Guangxiu reported that in recent days, many poor Koreans had flocked to join the army, showing that on this war-ravaged, oft-contested land, the ignorant masses cared little for national identity—give them land, and they would support you.

These arrangements were novel to all but Chen Hu and Luo Guoqi, yet none voiced objection after hearing Deng She’s reasoning.

Having spoken almost nonstop since waking, Deng She’s throat grew hoarse. Seeing the sun high outside, he ordered food prepared and invited the generals to dine. His neck wound prevented him from drinking, so he toasted with tea instead. After the meal, all departed.

Only Zhao Guo remained, to accompany him that afternoon in meeting the city’s notables.

Since waking, Deng She had not slept a wink, yet felt no fatigue. Wu Henian had already notified the local Han families, who all came promptly. He suggested holding the meeting in Deng She’s bedchamber, but Deng She thought it improper. He had his guards fetch a soft couch, sat on it, and was carried to the main hall.

Inside, over twenty men awaited—every notable household represented. Judging by dress alone, it was impossible to distinguish ethnicity. The Bohai people, of course, but even the Jurchens living in Twin Cities were mostly farmers and deeply sinicized.

As Deng She entered, all stood. Seeing how young he was, they were momentarily startled. Then, some clasped hands, some knelt and bowed—their salutations a patchwork of titles: “General,” “My Lord,” “Master,” and even “Nayan,” the Mongol term for official.

Once the couch was in place, Deng She’s guards stood behind him, hand on hilt. Zhao Guo and Wu Henian stood nearby. Deng She raised his hand, inviting everyone to rise. “I have not come to trouble the people. My master, Lord Guan, in the name of the Song’s Liaodong province, heard of the Goryeo king’s cruelty, of the suffering of Han families in Twin Cities, and sent me, with ten thousand vanguard, to relieve your distress. By fortune, we have succeeded. Today, I have asked you here just to talk, to bring greetings from Lord Guan and my own master. The city was only just taken, so there may be some shortcomings—if you need anything, speak freely.”

The phrase “some shortcomings” deftly glossed over the massacre.

Every man present was shrewd—after all, they had lost little in the massacre, perhaps some fright and a bit of wealth. All clasped hands and responded: “General, you flatter us. You came from afar to restore Twin Cities; we rejoice. The Goryeo guards were too strict, else we would have brought food and wine to greet you outside the city. Please forgive us.”

Deng She smiled. “I hear from Chief Wu that upon entering the city, you donated five hundred taels of silver to support the army. I am most pleased and wish only to praise you, never to blame.”

He had Wu Henian bring out newly written land deeds. “Twin Cities was once Chinese land, seized by Goryeo and renamed Xianzhou—an illegitimate name. Now, by order of Lord Guan, its rightful name is restored. Goryeo titles are void. Chief Wu has drawn up new deeds for each of your original fields; please bring your old ones to the administration office tomorrow for exchange.”

Wu Henian handed out the deeds. The men exchanged glances; the new deeds bore the seal of the Song’s Liaoyang province, Twin Cities Administration. None knew how to react.

Changing deeds was no trivial matter—fields would not move, but could Deng She truly hold Twin Cities? Many petty kings had risen and fallen in these chaotic times. If he were defeated and fled, and the Goryeo returned, all donations and greetings could be dismissed as empty gestures. But giving up the old deeds—that was perilous.

These men, though mostly Han, had lived in Twin Cities so long that nationality mattered far less than land and wealth.

Deng She ignored their hesitation and continued, “When my army entered, the Goryeo landlords resisted to the death, laughably trying to stop a chariot with their arms. Now the city is taken, the majority of their families destroyed—they brought it upon themselves.” His tone was gentle, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. “You are different; we share the same roots and blood. As a reward for welcoming the royal army and donating silver, I am granting you half the land confiscated from the ruined Goryeo landowners.”

Wu Henian produced another stack of deeds, distributing them in proportion to each man’s donation—the more silver, the more land. A large portion remained, reserved for the impoverished Han.

These two types of deeds were like hot coals—no one dared take them, nor say a word. The hall was silent.

Deng She was in no hurry, sitting cross-legged at ease. Wu Henian busied himself with tea, never glancing at the crowd. Deng She sipped his tea, nodded to Zhao Guo. Zhao Guo coughed; a guard burst in. “General, three soldiers have violated orders, wantonly killing civilians. They are bound outside, awaiting your judgment.”

Deng She’s face darkened. He hurled his tea bowl to the floor with a sharp crash. The men in the hall flinched as he pronounced a single word: “Execute!”

He had never intended to spare the soldiers left detained at noon. He had seen them himself, reasoned with them, promised honorable burial after execution. The centurion among them had accepted his fate. They were given a hearty last meal. Originally, he had meant to execute them after this meeting, using their heads to reassure the local gentry and hasten the city’s peace.

But when the meeting stalled at the first hurdle, he realized the gentry needed not just reassurance, but a shock. So he changed plans—execution first.

The guards brought the soldiers to the gate, forced them to kneel before the hall. At his order, heads fell. Three headless bodies spurted blood yards across the courtyard, splattering even the hall’s floor. The faces of the assembly turned ashen, their hearts pounding in terror.

Deng She said coldly, “Display their heads to the army as a warning.”

The guards loudly acknowledged and left with the heads. Wu Henian seized the moment, craned his neck, stamped his feet, and shouted, “The commander’s orders are law—none may disobey!” The guards drew half their swords, shouting in unison, “None may disobey!” Their voices shook the rafters.

Frightened and tempted by the new land, some of the greedy and cowardly finally dropped to their knees, trembling as they thanked Deng She and took the deeds.

Deng She nodded approval, replaced his sternness with a smile. “A small military matter has disturbed our conversation.” He sighed. “I regret the earlier disorder in the city. I have now issued strict orders—any future offenses, whether by officer or soldier, should be reported directly to me, and I will show no mercy.”

All present hastened to praise him: “The general loves the people as his own children!” As the mood softened, they quietly accepted their deeds.

Deng She pretended not to notice, and gently asked the first to take a deed, “May I know your name?”

The man, in his thirties or forties and unremarkable in appearance, was sweating profusely from fear. He was about to wipe his brow when Deng She’s question made him quickly kneel. “I dare not give my surname. My humble name is Luo Li Lang.”

“You’re Han?”

“Yes. My family has lived in Liaoyang for generations; my grandfather settled in Twin Cities. It’s been three generations now.”

Deng She noted his scholar’s cap, blue robe, and pointed shoes—a Confucian’s garb. He asked, “You speak well; have you studied?”

Luo Li Lang replied, “A little. My family has always valued learning; I know something of the teachings of Master Zhu.” (Master Zhu refers to Zhu Xi, whose philosophy was influential in Song, Yuan, and even Goryeo.)

Deng She glanced at Wu Henian, who understood and whispered, “He speaks true. I’ve made inquiries—Luo Li Lang’s family is known here for scholarship and has some local standing.”

“So, you are well-read—a true scholar. My administration still lacks a deputy. You’ll take the post.”

Luo Li Lang would have refused but dared not, casting a pleading glance at his peers. But they, like clay idols crossing a river, could barely save themselves, let alone him. Left with no choice, he agreed.

“Why all this reluctance?” Deng She scoffed. “I know your concerns—fear I won’t last here, that I’ll be swept away, and that accepting office will make it hard to face your old Goryeo masters.” He straightened, slapped the couch, and thundered, “But if you fear to face your old masters, should you not fear to face me?”

The whole room fell prostrate, knocking their heads and crying, “We dare not!”

“Truly?” he pressed.

“We dare not!” they chorused in perfect unison.

“Then let’s select a few more learned men for official posts.” Deng She had meant to host a convivial banquet under Hong Jixun’s name, to win these people over. But none of those close to Hong remained; all had perished before the city’s fall.

On reflection, their reactions were understandable. It was his own lack of experience, his failure to anticipate.

He decided to use intimidation for now, to get through this critical juncture. Once he held the city, they would fall in line. Yet for long-term governance and development, he would need their cooperation, so he did not push them too hard.

He turned over the selection of officials to Wu Henian and, not wishing to tangle further with these people, ordered the couch carried out.

At the door, he turned and added, “I regret meeting you all so late; our conversation today was most enjoyable. Deputy Luo, though I am a rough man, I have always loved literature. You are busy, so tonight, please send your son to my residence for a chat.” He glanced around. “And let your sons all come as well.”

With that, he strode away.

He had executed men before the gentry and demanded their sons as hostages—outwardly imposing, but inwardly cold. If even the Han and allied tribes were so hard to win, how much more so the Korean nobility? To secure this place would be a long, arduous road.

As he walked the upper corridors, Deng She looked out over the closely packed rooftops, gazed at the blue sky and distant green hills beyond the city. Here was his first domain, a land of beauty. His spirits rose—not only was he undaunted by setbacks, but he had no fear of the unknown future. Two lines of poetry flashed through his mind, and he recited softly: “With faith, one lives two hundred years; with strength, one will sweep across three thousand li.”

He had just returned from the border of life and death after three days’ coma. Some things he now saw more clearly; some, he pursued with even greater resolve.

That night, Luo Li Lang and the surrendered Korean gentry dutifully sent their eldest sons to him. The oldest were about thirty, the youngest just twelve or thirteen. Deng She met them all, then entrusted them to Zhao Guo, establishing a new Hostage Corps for unified management.

Despite a day’s toil, he could not yet rest.

Taking advantage of Wen Huaguo’s and Chen Hu’s presence, Deng She summoned the veteran highwaymen now scattered among the armies for a feast. Only about forty of his old comrades remained; all now held at least the rank of centurion. Deng She had awakened only last night, yet tonight he invited them to drink—each was deeply moved.

As they grew drunk, they reminisced. Many wept for lost brothers and friends. Deng She too shed tears for his father and Deng San. Once, the band of highwaymen had numbered four or five hundred; now, only a handful remained.

Yet comparing then and now—the past month had seen their fortunes turn dramatically. All admired Deng She beyond words. In their excitement, they gestured and laughed, discussing dreams for the future.

Wen Huaguo, in high spirits, boasted that once he became a great official under the Little Ming King, he had two lifelong wishes to fulfill. Chen Hu asked what they were. Wen solemnly replied, “To sleep with one hundred wives, and to forge a suit of solid gold armor. ‘Golden armor and a hundred wives,’” he declaimed, “as Confucius said, ‘is that not true happiness?’”

Everyone burst out laughing, Deng She included. Only here, among these old friends who had watched him grow up, could he be his true self.

Not until dawn did the feast end. Chen Hu, Wen Huaguo, and the others took their leave and returned to their commands—those ordered outside, to prepare for departure.

Deng She, having not slept for two days and nights, was at his limit. Remembering one last task, he sent Zhao Guo to tell Luo Guoqi to draft a document recording the capture of Twin Cities, the merits of all officers above centurion, and the appointments to the city administration. The most eloquent messenger would carry it to Shangdu; if Lord Guan was absent, then to Lord Pan.

For only with proper sanction could he, as a Song subject and Red Turban commander under Liaoyang, truly claim Twin Cities. He was ninety percent sure Guan Duo would approve. If not, and he was ordered to abandon the city and return to Liaoyang, he would simply play deaf.

—

1. “According to the original tally.”

“Bundle” (jie) was the Goryeo unit for measuring land. Initially defined by grain yield—ten bundles to a sheaf, ten sheaves to a load, a hundred loads to a bundle. One bundle equaled land that produced ten thousand handfuls of wheat—its area was not fixed.

Later, it was measured in paces: a square of thirty-three paces per bundle, forty-seven for two, up to 104.3 for ten. (Six inches to a fen, ten fen to a chi, six chi to a pace—these units varied in length over time, and records are incomplete.)

The Koreans believed “bundle” derived from the Guanzi: “The census and land bundles are how one knows the wealth and poverty of the people.” As Korea neighbored Shandong, Guan Zhong’s methods spread to Korea and throughout the Three Han.

However, in the Guanzi, “land bundles” referred to land registers, not the land itself.

2. Winning over the gentry.

The Little Ming King’s and early Xu Shouhui’s regimes, both devout White Lotus followers, were ideologically hostile to gentry and landlords.

Zhang Shicheng most valued recruiting scholars; his region was rich and cultured. He opened academies and recruited guests, treating scholars with great favor—Wu’s guests numbered seven thousand.

3. Guan Duo.

A man of Chongren, chivalrous and proud. He once traveled north, writing: “The west wind awakens the hero’s dream—not in Xianyang, but in Luoyang.” Later, he served Liu Futong as adviser, titled “Master Guan.” (In Yuan times, “master” referred to scholars, accountants, fortune-tellers, and Taoists alike; both official documents and the common people used it. Han scholars were also called “xiucai,” regardless of formal exams.)

4. Du Zundao.

He was killed by Liu Futong not long after the founding of the Little Ming King’s regime.

“Du Zundao, secretary of the Privy Council, resigned and went to Yingzhou, where he became a Red Turban leader.”

“Previously, Boyan was Chancellor, Mazhatai was director, Zundao a scholar. Zundao advised recruiting talented warriors through military exams. Mazhatai made him secretary. Realizing his advice would not be heeded, Zundao resigned. He later became a Red Turban leader.”

“He had ties with the Yang family and wielded exclusive power, provoking envy. Liu Futong hated him and ordered armored soldiers to kill him, after which Futong became chancellor and later Grand Guardian.”

The Yang family: The Little Ming King’s mother, Han Shantong’s wife, the Song Empress Dowager. Han Shantong died before the founding of the regime.

5. Liu Futong.

“He was from Jieshou, Yingzhou—a fabulously wealthy and generous man.”

6. Koreans joining the Red Turbans.

When the Red Turbans entered Korea, tens of thousands of Koreans joined their ranks.