39. Ma Yong Opens His Mouth to Ask for Xiela

Since he is a trusted retainer of my brother-in-law's family, his arrival at my home is the same as being at the Zhao estate. The task of recruiting three thousand soldiers cannot be rushed; Zhang Xun still needs to consult with the local village elders and the gentry of the local militia organizations.

Currently, Changzhou is not suffering from famine, so naturally, there are no starving masses ready to answer a call. To recruit soldiers, one must draw men from the tenant families of the local estates. It is well-known that able-bodied rural labor is one of the landlords' most vital assets, and soldiers are not recruited blindly.

Leaving aside the situation elsewhere, Changzhou has not yet descended into chaos and still maintains order. The wealthy landlords will do their utmost to protect their property from being plundered by the imperial court. In a sense, having such people at the top provides a strange, unintended benefit.

Ma Yong is no fool. He nodded in agreement, accepting Zhang Xun’s arrangements to stay at his home for the time being, slowly recruiting men and preparing equipment.

The imperial court is unwilling to provide even a single penny. Reading novels in the past, one would hear that even when the Song court was broke, they would at least issue hundreds of blank ordination certificates, selling each for a hundred strings of cash to monks and Taoists. But here with Zhang Xun, there is absolutely nothing.

Zhao Huai did send an official dispatch, stating that he would do his best to supply the troops and would provide a follow-up once the summer harvest was collected.

It is best to take such promises with a grain of salt. Lu Xiufu, holding official court documents, is still running around begging for help everywhere. How much one can trust the word of Zhao Huai, the Transport Commissioner of Western Zhejiang, is highly questionable.

I called to the servant at the door to steam buns for the twenty soldiers and slaughter two sheep. While there is no fine wine, there is plenty of farmhouse ale. Since they came all this way to join us, we must at least ensure they leave today with their bellies full.

Speaking of steamed buns, one must mention our "stand-in," Xie La.

Indeed, as Zhang Xun led the soldiers to a room outside the kitchen to have a few drinks, he saw Xie La carrying two sheep inside all by himself.

"No, brother, just helping my mother with chores is enough," I thought. Mother had taken a liking to Xie La, but why was he snatching up this kind of work too? If this continues, everyone in the kitchen except the head chef will be out of a job.

Seeing Zhang Xun, Xie La gave him face and let out a casual greeting. In the past, the family steward would have scolded him, but now that he comes to the Zhang house as if it were his own—mostly because rumors say he is living so well that he is practically a second life for Zhang Xun—no one dares say a word.

Feudal rumors are truly not to be trusted.

Handing the cleaned sheep to the cook, Xie La did not rest. He estimated the number of soldiers outside and began kneading the dough. Since there were many people today, he couldn't handle it alone, so he called over two local women to help with the cooking.

***

Fine, let them work. Zhang Xun went to chat with Ma Yong. Since we were not just working in a vacuum, and Ma Yong happened to be here, I asked him what kind of equipment and supplies are most lacking after an army marches thousands of miles.

He had fought under Liu Zheng and faced the Mongols; he certainly knew a thing or two. If Li Da and Li Rang returned from the city later, I could ask them as well. By probing from different angles, no one would be the wiser.

Besides, since we are about to recruit, what’s the harm in asking?

When the subject of war came up, Ma Yong’s eyes were filled with memories. He fled south from Henan at fourteen or fifteen. His father was captured by the Mongols as a laborer, his mother starved to death on the road, and his older sister was sold to a mountain family in exchange for a peck of millet. His younger brother, lacking milk, grew thin as a twig and was eventually left in a roadside ditch.

He first served the Song army building fortifications, cutting timber; at least he could get one solid meal a day. As he grew older and hadn't been worked to death, he was reassigned as a garrison soldier, repairing bows and crossbows. By eighteen, he was tall and strong, selected for his courage, registered in the military, and sent to reinforce Sichuan.

After Yu Jie died unjustly, the situation in Sichuan collapsed. Days and nights of brutal fighting left no peace. If one could not pull a heavy bow or handle a powerful crossbow, how could one survive that slaughterhouse?

"Serve the country, serve the country..." he muttered. Tens of thousands of brothers died. When Liu Zheng surrendered, the Song soldiers killed their own; it was a bloodbath beyond words.

As he spoke, Ma Yong, a large, burly man, actually burst into tears.

By then, the buns were steamed. Xie La brought over eight bamboo steamers all by himself. The soldiers, ignoring the heat, crowded around to grab the meat-filled buns. Perhaps hearing the latter part of Ma Yong’s story, Xie La brought over a wooden basin filled with mutton, sprinkled with green onions, and set it before Ma Yong, urging him to continue.

Wiping his tears, Ma Yong didn't forget to eat. He picked up a lamb leg and began to explain to Xie La and Zhang Xun. When he heard Liu Zheng had defected to the Mongols, the temple ordered troops from Jinghu and Liangguang to launch a fierce attack on Southern Sichuan. He had followed Zhao Huai, who was serving as the Prefect of Yiyang at the time. They called it war, but really, they spent every day building fortresses.

Lü Wende realized Liu Zheng was a tough opponent and adopted only one tactic: build solid fortifications and fight a methodical war. He used his main army to guard all supply lines, avoiding open-field battles whenever possible, and pushed forward step by step with his fortifications.

In the end, he forced Liu Zheng to abandon the city and flee, yet almost no imperial troops were lost. One has to admit, Lü Wende truly possessed some military talent.

And then? There was no "then." Zhao Huai was transferred to be Prefect of Wuwei, and two years later, he retired. Ma Yong had no choice but to follow him back to Liyang and become a retainer for the Zhao family.

Xie La and Zhang Xun listened with great interest. Before they knew it, they saw Xie La finish off three steamers—over fifty buns. This appetite shocked even Ma Yong, who had just polished off a basin of mutton.

***

Perhaps struck by a sudden thought, Ma Yong asked if he could take this servant for himself.

Just now, Xie La had carried two sheep alone, lifted eight steamers of buns, and had such a massive appetite—this proved the man had strength. Ma Yong was currently in dire need of strong soldiers. He was already in his thirties and no longer possessed the raw power of his twenties, when he could wear heavy scale armor, don a steel helmet, wield a thirty-pound iron axe, and carve paths through mountains.

"Haha, I cannot agree to that. This is a Taoist from the Tianqing Temple nearby; he has already renounced the world," Zhang Xun said, truly unable to make decisions for Xie La.

"You are a Taoist?" The image of a Taoist in Ma Yong’s mind was very different from Xie La.

"Why, don't I look like one?" Xie La wiped his mouth carelessly and looked down at his attire; he did indeed look like a common laborer.

"Not really... Are you full? Do you know any martial arts?" Ma Yong, having downed two catties of wine and a basin of meat, was full of energy and wanted to test Xie La.

"Almost. Another steamer would be about right," Xie La replied, ignoring the second half of the question and focusing entirely on the first.

"Since you're full, spar with me."

Then, Ma Yong was absolutely stunned. Xie La said he didn't know martial arts, so Ma Yong, confident in his own strength, told him to grab a staff. Xie La thought, "A staff, eh?" and casually reached out and lifted the massive wooden door bar that bolted the front hall to the courtyard—a beam at least twenty centimeters in diameter.

He swung it as easily as a flyswatter. That thing would kill anyone it touched. Ma Yong, a man who knew when to yield, immediately shouted, "Brother Xie, Brother Xie, please put the little stick down! If you don't hit a person, you might hit the flowers or plants!"