Chapter 25: Taihang and Big Ear

"Although the Liu clan of Zhongshan is the main branch of our lineage, we have long since ceased all contact. I do not care if they ruin the family name through their reckless behavior; I only fear that the people of Zhongshan will not survive."

Liu Bei shook his head, indifferent to Gongsun Zan’s mockery of the Zhongshan Liu family. While the Liu clan of Zhuo Commandery was indeed a branch of the Zhongshan line, ties had frayed, and Liu Bei had no relatives in Zhongshan with whom he could hold any influence.

"If the commoners here cannot survive, they will naturally attach themselves to officials and gentry like us. The merits and status we hold were won through bloody battles, supported by the loyalty and bravery of our own fierce warriors, not bestowed upon us by the commoners of Zhongshan. Since you care nothing for the Liu clan of Zhongshan, why concern yourself with the lives of mediocre strangers in a foreign land?" Gongsun Zan remarked dismissively.

"The border of Zhongshan touches Zhuo Commandery. If this place falls into chaos, Zhuo will inevitably be dragged down with it." Knowing his outlook differed from Gongsun Zan’s, Liu Bei avoided an ideological debate and spoke only of his concern for his homeland.

In truth, Liu Bei understood Gongsun Zan’s mindset; in these times, most people viewed those from other commanderies as "foreigners," with local loyalties far outweighing any sense of national duty.

Upon hearing this, Gongsun Zan nodded in agreement. "Therefore... I must make preparations early. It would be best if you did the same, Xuande."

"When you speak of making preparations, Brother Bo-gui, what exactly do you mean?" Liu Bei asked, though he knew the answer.

"Ha... what do you think? Can you not see what has become of this world?" Gongsun Zan snorted and ceased paying any further attention to Liu Bei.

Liu Bei remained silent. What had become of the world? The truth was, the world had long since rotted.

Take the collection of taxes, for instance. In these times, when taxes were levied, each 'ting'—a local administrative unit—was ordered to provide corvée labor, overseen by the local ting-chief. Several households from each ting would be selected, tasked with the actual collection and transport of goods.

Those chosen for such service were doomed. Taxes were rarely collected in full, and even when they were, grain and other commodities suffered heavy losses during transport. If the tax involved livestock, such as horses, the attrition was even greater. Whether the shortfall was due to incomplete collection, transit loss, or consumption, the corvée households were required to make up the difference out of their own pockets.

Thus, being selected for service was a catastrophe that destroyed families. Realizing they could never fill the void, these households would flee, choosing to become vagabonds rather than face the inevitable punishment of enslavement. The land abandoned by these fugitives was then sold off by the authorities, providing an opportunity for powerful local clans to expand their holdings. This was the most common method employed by commandery officials, and the local gentry usually cooperated fully.

The most frequent victims were middle-class families—those with some land but no political connections. They were the perfect targets: they met the imperial policy of "not taxing the poor," yet could be squeezed until they were forced to sell their land. Meanwhile, the wealthy elite, in the process of purchasing this land, would often "donate" money and grain to cover the tax shortfall, earning themselves a reputation for benevolence.

The powerful clans acquired land, the officials met their quotas and lined their pockets, and the displaced peasants were recruited by the very gentry who had ruined them, becoming serfs or tenant farmers. Those who struggled, clawed their way back to middle-class status, were inevitably selected for corvée duty once more, sinking back into destitution.

The methods varied by region, but the result was the same: independent middle-class farmers were reduced to destitute vagrants, only to rent back the land they once owned. Should they work hard enough to reclaim their own fields, they would be broken once again. This was a cycle that had remained unchanged on this land for thousands of years.

If the commoners wished to break this cycle, their only option was rebellion. The uprisings that had erupted in various places over the years were, in reality, driven by this very cause.

In his youth, Gongsun Zan had served as a 'shang-ji' in Liaoxi—a financial auditor responsible for reporting the commandery’s taxes to the capital, Luoyang—so he was well-versed in these practices. Yet, judging by his attitude, he did not regard it as a tragedy, but rather an opportunity. He had clearly grown accustomed to it long ago.

Liu Bei had read of such matters in books, but reading words on a page was a far cry from witnessing the displaced masses before his own eyes. Liu Bei could not grow accustomed to it.

...

The journey continued in silence until they reached the banks of the Zi River, on the border between Zhongshan and Changshan. It was near the flood season, and although the river was not vast, it was impassable without finding a boat.

Curiously, after searching for half a day, they could not find a single vessel—not even a small raft. There was a ferry crossing, and near it stood a ting with dozens of buildings that appeared reasonably well-maintained. Yet, the place was empty. Not a soul was to be found. Even in the bright light of day, it felt eerie. The refugees they had seen on the main road earlier had all headed north, likely because the path to the south was blocked.

Unable to cross, they made camp. Fortunately, the buildings were habitable, making the stay bearable. The next day, Gongsun Zan took his subordinates to the local Wuji County office to inquire about the situation, while the others split up to search for boats. Liu Bei led his men upstream.

They found boats, but they were unusable. All of them had been deliberately scuttled in a river bend. Along the way, Liu Bei still saw no one. They passed three more tings, and each was identical to the ferry station—vacant houses, not a dog in sight. Given the number of refugees he had seen earlier, Liu Bei assumed they had simply fled.

But Jiu-chi felt something was deeply wrong. "My Lord, I fear these people did not simply flee."

"How so?" Liu Bei asked.

"If they were refugees, it is impossible for every soul to have vanished. Many would have stayed on their ancestral land regardless. But there is no one here... I have seen this before." Jiu-chi paused, his eyes darkening. "They were slaughtered. The boats were scuttled on purpose to cut off any news."

"Are you saying... they were slaughtered to falsely claim military merit?" Liu Bei frowned. "But this is Hebei, not the borders of Youzhou. There are no northern nomads here. How could they claim such merit?"

"There are no nomads, but there is the Taihang range... Has my Lord heard of the Taihang Bandits?" Jiu-chi explained, "The Taihang Bandits only raid the wealthy, and they often give grain to the local commoners to buy information. Since the authorities in Zhongshan cannot suppress the major bandit leaders, they kill the commoners to fill their quotas. They are no different from the troops in Shanggu."

The Taihang Bandits? Liu Bei suddenly understood. As they traveled upstream, they were not far from the eastern foothills of the Taihang Mountains. These bandits were the precursors to the Black Mountain Army and had been active for years. Zhongshan, bordering the mountains, was a frequent target, and the officials were surely under pressure to report results. The refugees he had seen were likely just the latest victims forced to flee by such "pacification."

"Jiu-chi, in the Taihang Mountains... do you have anyone you know?" Liu Bei realized that Jiu-chi likely had acquaintances there, given that his home was in the southern part of Shanggu, at the northern foot of the mountains.

"I have a fellow townsman who became a bandit, but I cannot reveal his name. I beg for my Lord's forgiveness." Jiu-chi bowed his head.

"It is fine. I understand the rules of the world. Since you have a contact there, can you reach out to him?" Liu Bei mused. "Send some gifts to them. Tell them that 'Big Ears' of Zhuo Commandery wishes to make friends with the heroes of Taihang, so that we may trade what we have for what we lack."

"Big Ears?" Jiu-chi reflexively glanced at Liu Bei’s ears.