Chapter 11: The People's Suffering

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The entire city of Chang’an was under martial law. Outside the walls, commoners, carrying their families and belongings, streamed toward the city, weeping as they walked, cursing between sobs. Any harvestable grain in the fields had been gathered; what could not be collected was set alight. The air was thick with tension, heavy enough to congeal; a great battle seemed imminent.

The region of Guanzhong had always produced heroes. Countless men shouldered their packs in silence, bidding farewell to parents, wives, and children. Gripping their weapons, they went to report to the local ward official, who would then report to the court. For these men, this was the moment to achieve glory.

The people of Cai Family Village pushed their grain carts along Chang’an’s crowded streets. Unlike others, they did not curse or complain; instead, grief was etched deeply on most faces. Hunger did not frighten them—their stores would last for some time—but those who had been seized four days ago had yet to send word, and now, with chaos and war looming, how could anyone smile?

“Huang Si, Datong, pick up your things and get out!” A thunderous roar broke the crowd’s attention as they reached Qinren Ward.

An elderly man, white-haired and dignified, was berating two boys of fourteen or fifteen, pointing at them furiously. The old man’s clothes were well-fitted and his face gleamed with oil, clearly a man of comfortable standing. The two youths, however, wore yellowed hemp garments, packs on their backs and wooden staves in hand. They stood their ground, stubborn and silent.

“You two, did you hear me? Get out!” The old man’s rage was unrestrained; his hands shook as he repeated his command.

Suddenly, a woman stumbled from a nearby alley, crying, “My sons! You can’t go! In war, blades have no eyes—if anything happens to you, how will your mother survive?”

The two youths, finally moved, dropped their belongings and rushed to support her, embracing her and weeping bitterly. Her cries were heart-wrenching.

“You ungrateful brutes! Only thinking of making a name for yourselves—have you considered who will care for your blind mother when you’re gone? Beasts…”

Righteous fury shone from the old man as he produced a stick from somewhere and, without hesitation, began to strike at the boys’ backs. Only then did the onlookers notice the mother’s vacant gaze—though her eyes looked normal, she was blind. Now, seeing the two boys, the crowd’s faces filled with contempt; filial piety was the root of all virtue.

“Sir, please don’t beat them! They’re just children—they don’t understand,” the woman pleaded, her hands grasping blindly. A flash of pity crossed the old man’s face; with a snort, he tossed the stick aside.

The two boys, though struck multiple times, made no sound. Only then did one speak gently to their mother: “Mother, we cannot bear to leave you, but the Turks are invading and will soon reach Chang’an. They bring tens of thousands of soldiers, and our city is in peril. If they break through, we will all die, our sister’s family will suffer, and our neighbors, too. Though my brother and I are insignificant, we have read the sages’ words; loyalty and filial piety cannot both be fulfilled. In times of national crisis, we must forsake the small family for the greater good. Do not blame us.”

With these words, the youths knelt and bowed deeply to their mother, tears streaming down their faces like newborns.

The entire street fell into silent witness, watching the family’s grief. At length, the blind woman, voice trembling with tears, said resolutely, “Sir, please take these two children. I have scrimped and saved to send them to school, so that they would know right from wrong. Today, they speak the truth—I cannot stop them.”

Simple words, yet they won the respect of all present.

“My household has a long sword, left by a departed friend years ago. I’ve sent for it now, to give to you. You are both fine men; my old friend would only applaud you,” said a robed elder, stepping forward with admiration.

“Go with peace of mind! Here is a stone of grain for your mother. If she ever lacks food or clothing, I’ll provide more,” said Cai Gang, though he lacked the authority for such generosity. Still, Cai Jie’er, moved by the scene and thinking of the missing Cai Cong, offered the grain in empathy.

This was but a single glimpse among the myriad lives within Chang’an. After the moment of emotion, people returned to their business. For hundreds, finding shelter was no easy task—the streets were packed. Those with relatives sought them; others sought refuge in temples or slept on the open streets.

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The villagers of Cai Family Village, using their grain as leverage, found a temple. The elderly, women, and children stayed inside, while the men wrapped themselves in blankets and slept in the open—a fate far better than most refugees.

“Gang, now that things have settled down, take some men and find out what’s become of Cong’er and the others. If they’re alive, we want to see them; if not, we want their bodies,” Cai Jie’er said helplessly, while the relatives of the other detainees looked on with hope.

It was said that one should never enter a government office alive nor hell when dead; in commoners’ eyes, being seized by officials almost certainly meant disaster.

“That won’t be easy,” Gang replied. “The Right Martial Guard is in the imperial city. I went there yesterday but didn’t even get close to the gate before being driven off. They said these are special times—the Right Martial Guard is a military stronghold, and no one is allowed near.”

“What are we supposed to do? I can’t hide it from you all—I’m terrified. Every night, I dream of my son crying in pain,” Cai Jie’er confessed, powerless.

“Cough… Tomorrow, take twenty taels of silver. Don’t try to rush the yamen; just wait outside. When you see the guards coming out, approach them, invite them to eat and drink. If they have news of Cong’er, give them ten taels of silver. Even if you can’t get them out, at least find out how they’re doing,” the patriarch said, appearing without anyone noticing, his cough betraying his frailty. Gang’s heart ached to hear it—treating someone to a meal and wine, plus ten taels of silver! In the past, the whole village might not have been able to scrape together that much. Now, he had to give it away.

“Which is more important, lives or money? Listen to me—don’t be stingy when the time comes. If you mess this up, see how I deal with you!” The old man, irritated by Gang’s tightfistedness, gave him a weak slap.

“Patriarch, don’t worry. I know what matters. Don’t upset yourself. Just now, Liu managed to find some honey—I’ll have him bring you some to soothe your throat.” Gang grinned, currying favor, immediately shifting blame to Liu to placate the old man.

Early the next morning, Gang took twenty odd taels of silver and two sturdy men and set out. They bought some flatbreads and sat at a stall outside the Right Martial Guard from dawn till dusk.

The Right Martial Guard bustled with activity—Li Jing was now the Grand Commander, overseeing all the troops. Li Ji was ordered to remain in Chang’an; both were famed military strategists. If war with the Turks broke out, Li Jing would only be at ease with Li Ji handling the rear.

As the sun set, two weary men in plain clothes emerged from the Guard’s gates—one long-faced with large eyes, the other burly and robust. Gang quickly stuffed the half-eaten bread into his shirt and approached with a forced smile. “Brothers, a word if you please?”

He’d practiced this polite phrase all night. He’d seen these men several times today in uniform; now they were in plain clothes, suggesting some rank—otherwise, ordinary guards would only change at home.

The two exchanged a glance, a subtle smile on their lips. These three had sat outside all day; how could the guards not notice?

The tall, long-faced man said, “We’re very busy. A word with you will take time, you know.”

No matter if they were spies, best to get a few coins first, the long-faced man thought.

“Of course, I understand. Why don’t we talk over a meal at Keyunlai? My treat, and there will be more to come if you can help,” Gang replied, slipping two taels of silver into the man’s hand, having guessed he was the leader.

“Keyunlai, eh? The food there isn’t cheap! Well, if a brother invites you, you don’t refuse a free meal,” the long-faced man replied, tucking the money away with practiced ease.

“That’s right—only a fool would refuse,” the burly man chimed in as they slung arms around each other, ignoring the trio behind. In their line of work, everything depended on a keen eye. No matter how Gang tried to act, his ingrained caution and humility were plain as day.

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In these turbulent times, even the restaurants were nearly deserted, with only a few sparse patrons. Gang chose a window seat, prompting the long-faced man to clap his hands and laugh, “Good! I love window seats—listening to the rain and watching the world drift by. Pity the best tables are all taken on the first floor; we’ll have to settle for the second.”

“Absolutely! I love that saying. Brother, you surely have taste! Waiter, what wine and dishes do you recommend?” the burly man called out, making himself at home.

“Bring your house specialties and ten catties of wine. I admire learned men most—your poetry was excellent, brother. I must toast you several cups,” he declared.

Though not especially shrewd, Gang understood the ways of the world and showered the long-faced man with flattery, putting him in excellent spirits and making the trio seem more agreeable.

Gang did not rush to state his business. The five drank and chatted about all manner of things. After several rounds and ten catties of wine, faces flushed and tongues loosened. Wine in this era was not strong, but neither were the people’s tolerances—two catties was enough for most.

“Brother Cai, I wouldn’t dare to say much about the Right Martial Guard, but I do have my ways. Tell me, what do you need from us?” the long-faced man boasted, emboldened by drink.

“That’s right! We work under the commandant—unless it’s a truly serious crime, a little money can sort most problems,” the burly man added, pride coloring his voice.

Gang, waiting for this moment, sobered immediately. Fearing they’d pass out, he poured each a bowl of soup and explained, “It’s nothing major. Our village made some money recently, and Brother Cai had us buy extra grain. The authorities said we were hoarding and arrested those who bought the grain. When Brother Cai tried to reason with them, he was seized as well. I just want to know if you can get them out—there will be a generous reward.”

“Ha… that’s not so easy…”

“No one dares meddle in hoarding—that’s nearly treason,” the long-faced man slurred, his speech faltering, the burly one finishing for him.

Gang panicked, rushing to the burly man and dumping all his silver on the table. “We’ll pay—just help us! Name your price; we’ll provide it.”

The burly man, eyes glazed, glanced at the silver with disdain. “What’s money? There’s a noble who hoarded grain—he’s still locked up. When the Duke sees him, he gives way, but even he’s still in the Left Martial Guard. People without power or connections… you’re finished.”

He eyed the trio with scorn, then added with morbid cheer, “Buy some good coffins and thread—prepare to collect the bodies. Old Fang, we’re done drinking—let’s go.”

“Oh, we’re done? Then let’s go! Brother Cai, remember to visit my humble home—I’ll treat you to wine,” the long-faced man said, rousing himself and clasping Gang’s shoulder in drunken camaraderie.

But Gang was thunderstruck, eyes blank, unable to utter a word. Only the words “you’re finished” echoed endlessly in his mind.