Chapter 718 - A Story from the Pearl River Campaign
The performing troupe of "Rival to the Azure Cloud" was plunged back into crisis. News that the crop-heads had arrived at the river near Sanliang Market threw the entire town and surrounding region into panic. The terror and power of the crop-heads left everyone in constant dread. Even the Mid-Autumn Festival lost its joy. Naturally, no one was interested in watching equestrian performances. Not only could they not earn travel money, but they continued spending on lodging and medicine. The whole troupe was trapped in an impossible situation.
The town descended into chaos. Wealthy families and gentry from surrounding villages fled with their households to seek refuge in Sanliang Market. The town's empty rooms filled instantly; inns were soon packed to bursting. Room prices increased tenfold. The innkeeper, presented with this golden opportunity, naturally resented their group of ten-odd people occupying three or four rooms plus a stable. He delivered an ultimatum: starting today, room rates were going up. Not just room rates—even the stable would be charged, more expensive than a large room had been before.
"Charging for the stable? Where in the world is that the rule?" Jiang Suo said indignantly.
"Rules? I make the rules here. Plenty of people are begging to stay in my stable with silver in hand." The innkeeper's face was oily with sweat, utterly indifferent. For some, crisis meant opportunity. This sudden windfall had gone to his head. Anyone blocking his fortune might as well be asking to die.
No matter how Aunt Jiang and Uncle Zhou pleaded for a few days' grace, the innkeeper had one answer: pay the new rates starting today, or pack up and get out immediately.
Jiang Suo, young and hot-blooded, wanted to argue further. Qingxia knew words were useless and agreed to move out.
But the town was already packed. They had no choice but to relocate to the Guandi Temple on the east side, already crammed with poor refugees from surrounding villages. They barely managed to claim space beneath a corridor.
They couldn't perform; they couldn't rest easy. Qingxia's father neither worsened nor improved. The group sat idle in the ruined temple with no income, gradually depleting their resources. Everyone sighed—they were truly strangers here with no relatives or connections, their home far away in the Central Plains. Never mind returning there; they couldn't even scrape together enough to reach Guangzhou and start fresh.
With her father bedridden, Qingxia was effectively the troupe leader. Her mood was deeply troubled. Besides herself and her father, the troupe included Aunt Jiang, Uncle Zhou, Jiang Suo, and three adolescent children—all from the same village, somewhat related. The safety of all these people weighed on her shoulders.
Fearing she would worry the others, she still went out each day at dawn to practice her routines and exercise the horse. Though this Mongolian horse was nothing exceptional, it had been her faithful partner in countless performances. Even without proper feed, grazing only on wild grass, the horse had grown thin. This pained her greatly. But their money dwindled daily—never mind horse feed, even their own meals were becoming a problem.
Qingxia knew everyone looked to her for strength. She couldn't openly show her anxiety. But waking in the middle of the night, she would cry silently. Performing had always meant a life of hardship. Now, trapped in such a predicament, the road ahead seemed endlessly bleak.
Aunt Jiang had secretly suggested that regardless of whether they had enough money for the full journey, they should leave this desperate place. Hire a boat with what little they had, head toward Guangzhou, go as far as they could, find somewhere more peaceful to perform along the way. Perhaps they could earn enough for expenses and travel costs to eventually reach the city. But Qingxia feared her father couldn't withstand the journey's rigors. And news of the crop-heads' approach made them afraid to leave—once outside the palisade's protection, if they were captured by crop-heads en route...
At the Militia Bureau, the gentry were alarmed multiple times daily. The militia keeping watch around the town and nearby villages were constantly set off by a passing boat or a few unfamiliar woodcutters—sounding alarm gongs and firing signal cannons.
In this state of constant anxiety, the Mid-Autumn Festival passed without celebration. Normally, the Luo Residence and other major households would have held elaborate festivities, specially purchasing mooncakes and delicacies from Guangzhou. Now no one had the heart for it.
Another seven or eight days passed before fresh news arrived: the crop-heads had reached Shigang. Shigang was part of Sanliang Market's mutual-defense alliance. Upon receiving the emergency message, Luo Tianqiu immediately ordered Yuan Kaibang and several newly hired militia instructors to lead two hundred militia as reinforcements to Shigang. Other allied villages also sent their forces.
Early the next morning, fierce gunfire rolled in from the Shigang direction—fiercer than anyone had ever heard. The firing continued for nearly two hours. The Militia Bureau committee members were beside themselves with anxiety. Besides sending people to investigate, they could only climb the blockhouses to watch for developments in the distance.
By midday, the first militia came into view. They were exhausted—some on foot, some by boat—retreating from Shigang in complete disorder. Each man was dejected. Some were supported by others or lay wounded in boats. Many had lost their weapons, their clothes torn, their bodies bloodstained.
The retreating militia brought not only news of Shigang's defeat but also Yuan Kaibang's corpse. This self-proclaimed "bulwark" had half his skull blown off and was missing an arm. What remained was half-charred—the result of a 12-pounder explosive shell's near-miss.
Of the two hundred militia sent to reinforce Shigang, over fifty hadn't returned. Besides Yuan Kaibang, seven or eight other training leaders and instructors had died. The survivors were all shell-shocked.
From those who escaped, they learned that the allied militia force had ultimately assembled over eight hundred men at Shigang to fight the crop-heads. The crop-heads numbered only two hundred, but their gunboats were devastating—a single volley killed masses at a time. The militia were routed from the riverbank before they could even engage. Then the crop-heads quickly scaled the undefended banks using ladders. The two sides clashed at Shigang's palisade gate, where over two hundred militia were utterly routed by barely thirty-odd crop-heads wielding blade-tipped muskets.
"Every crop-head can throw palm thunder—" one ashen-faced militiaman told the committee members. "Seeing we outnumbered them, they just waved their hands and exploded masses of us..."
Terrifying rumors about the crop-heads spread through the town immediately. Particularly alarming was news that crop-head muskets and cannons had extreme range, making the Militia Bureau realize their defensive preparations were probably useless. If the enemy could fire from beyond their own weapons' range, they could disperse defenders from a distance, then leisurely demolish or bypass fortifications. At Shigang, this was exactly what the crop-heads had done.
Luo Tianqiu convened all the town's gentry, magnates, headmen, examination graduates, guild representatives, and major clan heads at the Militia Bureau to discuss how to resist the crop-head attack. With Shigang captured, Sanliang was certainly next.
Though Sanliang was called the Luo family's "iron fortress," internal conflicts were actually sharp. The gentry were constantly at odds with each other, and commoners deeply resented the Luo family and their allied magnates' tyranny. Only the Luo family's usual power kept this resentment hidden. Now, with the crop-head threat looming, these contradictions surfaced. Many believed resisting the crop-heads was pointless—just getting people killed for nothing. As for the headmen and merchants, they had long heard that crop-heads targeted only magnates and gentry. Commoners who didn't resist and paid a small "burden" could remain safe. They didn't want to pay extra, but under Luo family rule, assessments and forced "donations" for "fighting the crop-heads" had already fallen on them multiple times. Everyone felt that since expensively armed militia and fortifications couldn't stop the crop-heads anyway, accepting "Reasonable Burden" and keeping them satisfied might be better—at least no one would die.
At the meeting, everyone had their own agenda. No matter how eloquently Luo Tianqiu spoke, the others remained uninterested in new resistance measures. Only after he repeatedly reminded them what fate awaited gentry and magnates in other villages that had fought the crop-heads did they reluctantly support his demands and agree to continue defense preparations.
After barely reaching consensus, Luo Tianqiu sprang into action. To win ordinary people's support, he ordered exemption of three years' rent for all commoners residing in Luo family properties, and one year's rent exemption for merchants using Luo family shop spaces. Each militiaman who saw combat would receive a two-tael bonus. Four taels for the wounded; twenty taels for each family of fallen soldiers. Any household providing militia members who also farmed Luo family land would have one year's rent waived. He not only imposed these measures on himself but required other Luo clan magnates to follow suit. He also urged other major families to do likewise, to win popular support by any means possible.
Several magnates pleaded poverty. Luo Tianqiu smiled coldly:
"Don't cry poor to me. The crop-heads can't stay here forever. Once they leave, it'll be the Great Ming's bright world again. Those mud-legs will still be yours to command—make them do whatever you want! What they ate, make them spit back out!"
To rally the literati, he summoned the town's and nearby villages' examination candidates and students in his capacity as a former provincial exam passer. He spoke many encouraging words, spread rumors about the crop-heads' "wicked deeds" of practicing strange crafts and slandering Confucius and Mencius, and expounded on "the distinction between Chinese and barbarian." He pointed out that crop-head claims to be descendants of Song Dynasty survivors at Yashan were first, unverifiable—no Ming or Yuan records mentioned such a thing. Second, even if true, "barbarians who enter Chinese civilization become Chinese; Chinese who enter barbarism become barbarian." Using this "Chinese-barbarian distinction" theory, he stirred up the literati's "defender of the Way" sentiment. Several young scholars with limited worldly experience were whipped into fervent enthusiasm. One proposed a solution: to counter the crop-heads' superior firearms, they should block the waterways.
The crop-heads relied entirely on boats for mobility—and there were virtually no land routes here anyway. Their cannons were heavy. If the waterways were blocked, the crop-heads could only approach Sanliang Market on foot. Without cannon support, no matter how deadly their muskets, they couldn't breach the palisade walls—surely they couldn't just stand there being bombarded while helpless to retaliate.
The nearest points for driving stakes and sinking obstructions were about two li from Sanliang town, with at least three blockade lines per channel to ensure the crop-heads couldn't pass.
Though some cursed this as a "self-destructive plan"—no one could guarantee they could remove the obstructions after the crop-heads left, and blocked waterways would affect future navigation—the Militia Bureau was grasping at straws. Luo Tianqiu thought it a good plan and immediately mobilized laborers to drive stakes and sink sand-filled wrecks in all channels leading to Sanliang.
He also ordered temporary shelter arranged for refugees flooding into Sanliang from surrounding areas. The method was simple: besides the town's temples, major households would open surplus rooms in their ancestral halls for poor commoners to stay temporarily. Rice was distributed by headcount to pacify the refugees. The Militia Bureau had originally considered refugees a destabilizing element and wanted them expelled. But Luo Tianqiu believed these refugees were local people familiar with the area; expelling them might drive them to collaborate with the crop-heads. Better to keep them in town temporarily as additional defenders—there was plenty of stored grain anyway.
With these measures, Sanliang Market's wavering morale stabilized again. Defenses tightened everywhere. Laborers and militiamen worked day and night driving stakes and dumping stones in the channels, while numerous scouts were dispatched to monitor crop-head movements.
Qingxia's troupe also benefited from Luo Tianqiu's generosity. Knowing the troupe had genuine skills and spoke with Central Plains accents—definitely not crop-head spies—and urgently needing skilled militia instructors, he decided to cultivate them. He sent medicine and arranged for them to stay in an empty room at the Luo family ancestral hall, occasionally sending money and rice as relief. The condition was simple: help train the town's militia.
Qingxia had wanted to decline, saying she was just a performing woman unsuited to training militia. But having received such kindness, she felt obligated to repay it somehow. Using her martial skills seemed more honorable than other methods. So Qingxia, Aunt Jiang, and Uncle Zhou all became militia instructors, teaching martial arts daily at the threshing ground. Aunt Jiang wasn't skilled at archery but had excellent throwing-knife work. Uncle Zhou's broadsword technique was also quite presentable.
Only Jiang Suo refused, convinced this was another of the Luo family's schemes to trick people into risking their lives for them. Qingxia didn't press him—her father hadn't fully recovered, and the troupe needed looking after. She left him at their lodgings to keep watch.
Whether it was the Luo family's medicine or the illness naturally running its course, after moving to their new quarters, Qingxia's father gradually recovered. This shifted her feelings toward Luo Tianqiu from suspicion and fear to gratitude. Especially watching this Lord Luo run himself ragged for the town's defense, personally inspecting construction sites and supervising training while not forgetting to arrange care and relief for refugees.
Qingxia was from Henan. In the late Ming, Henan was one of the Central Plains provinces most plagued by banditry. Large and small gangs were countless. She had seen plenty of local magnates building fortresses and recruiting militia for defense. But watching how Luo Tianqiu's efforts transformed Sanliang Market—the original chaos and crowded, disorderly streets of refugees becoming orderly, all defensive measures proceeding methodically, and most impressively, within just a few days restoring the beaten, skittish militia's morale to make them disciplined and vigilant again—she developed deep admiration for him.
From then on, Qingxia threw herself wholeheartedly into training militia. Though initially everyone laughed at having a performing woman as an instructor—some even made lewd jokes—her archery, which never missed at a hundred paces, gradually changed minds. They began respecting her. This gave her some standing among the militia. She often toured the walls and blockhouses, checking for defensive gaps and scouting good archery positions. "Eat a man's wages, be loyal to his cause"—traditional martial-family values dominated her thinking. Even if Lord Luo had committed misdeeds in the past, those now seemed unimportant. Deep in her heart, a tiny spark of affection for this man had kindled.
One day on the blockhouse, she was estimating distances from the walls to the channel outside. Luo Tianqiu arrived with his entourage to inspect the militia's defensive arrangements. He questioned everything in meticulous detail, considering many aspects she had never thought of. Truly thorough planning. She silently praised: "What a capable man!" She noticed he had grown much thinner than when she'd first seen him twenty days ago, yet his bearing remained vigorous. Though his eyes were bloodshot, they still shone with spirit. She couldn't help gazing at him somewhat entranced.
Lord Luo was only in his early forties—prime of life. He practiced boxing and swordplay daily; his body was robust, unlike most landlords who were either bloated or gaunt. His appearance was quite distinguished. Especially his manner and bearing: calm, decisive, forceful in word and deed. This made Qingxia—already over twenty, an old maid by contemporary standards—feel the stirrings of affection.
She had once been betrothed back home. But she had always traveled with her father, performing everywhere. When she returned at sixteen to discuss consummating the marriage, her betrothed had already died fighting bandits. Though she'd never met this husband-to-be, she'd mourned him properly.
Afterward, she had never thought about marriage again. She was the troupe's star and main earner, supporting most of the group. After marriage, she couldn't continue this livelihood. Besides, the troupe traveled constantly with no fixed home—ordinary families wouldn't want to betroth their sons to her.
(End of Chapter)