Chapter 2199 - Below Lianzhou Walls

The loss of so many able-bodied men would bear consequences requiring no elaboration. Not only would it severely impact production, but their security situation would become perilous. Neither hostile Zhuang settlements nor Hakka villages in the lowlands would permit such opportunities to pass. To guarantee their safety, they possessed no choice but throwing in their lot with the Council of Elders.

"...Besides, what would we do retaining them? More mouths to feed. Slaughter them all as Zhou Liangchen proposes? That creates blood feuds—and we still must win them over. We cannot resort to extremes."

The Mo brothers—Mo Songling and Mo Hongling—and the Ma brothers—Ma Tianju, Ma Mingju, Ma Junju, and Ma Yunju—stood on Lianzhou's walls, gazing with keen interest across the moat at Australian army drills outside.

Though Yao besiegers had retreated, Lianzhou's siege was not truly lifted. The city remained encircled—solely now the besiegers were the self-proclaimed Song dynasty Australians.

Yet the Australian siege proved far more lenient than the Yao's. Apart from establishing camps at each gate and barring weapon-bearing individuals from passing, they left the rest unguarded. Commoners could leave the city gathering firewood or drawing water without hindrance, free to come and go. Tension inside and outside walls had eased considerably.

It was within this relaxed atmosphere that these children had clambered onto walls "observing the troops."

Previously, they had watched local garrison "drill" on the eastern parade ground. Given Lianzhou's location in Yao territory and constant Han-Yao conflicts, the local garrison maintained higher readiness standards than most and could actually fight. Yet compared to Australian soldiers drilling below walls, the gap proved vast. Though Australians wore no armor, every equipment piece radiated lethal efficiency—the unmistakable appearance of "crack troops."

"The Australian soldiers truly live up to their reputation," stated Mo Songling, the eldest at fourteen.

The Mo brothers' grandfather, Mo Yuqi, and the Ma brothers' grandfather, Ma Chonghai, had been close friends. Both the Mo and Ma families were prominent Lianzhou gentry. Though both patriarchs had passed away, the families remained linked by old ties, and the brothers had grown up together. Though they were still children—fourteen-year-old Mo Songling being the eldest and the youngest, Ma Yunju, not yet nine—they were already known as "sons of great houses" in the city. The soldiers and militiamen on walls dared not stop them, allowing them to play as they pleased.

Heads of both families had been away from home since the Yao siege began, spending days at the prefectural yamen deliberating strategies, with no time supervising children or checking on studies. These youngsters had become wild horses without bridles. When fighting was intense, the garrison had kept them off walls, but now that the situation had calmed, guards were happy accepting a few coins in return for letting "young masters" sightsee.

"Yesterday cannons thundered for quite a while, and then Yao retreated. The Australians' artillery is formidable indeed."

"What's so interesting about cannons? We have them on walls too. It's the self-propelled boats on the river that I really want to see up close."

...

They chattered as they gazed at the Fubo Army outside, their curiosity piqued by every novelty—big guns, motorized launches, and other marvels.

Outside walls, Yang Zeng had largely completed Lianzhou's encirclement. Besides camps at each gate, one National Army squadron was deployed north of the city, another to the northeast, and a third to the east. The artillery, the Fubo Army company, and the Li-Miao Company were all positioned on Yanxi Mountain; the Yonghua Yao were encamped on the west bank of the Lian River; and patrol boats cruised the river day and night. What appeared to be a loose perimeter was, in reality, an airtight blockade.

Neither Yang Zeng nor Huang Chao wished to storm Lianzhou. First, their forces—already spread thin—were inadequate for assault; reinforcements would have to come from elsewhere. But regions where they had dispersed units were essential to controlling the entire Lianyang area; withdrawing troops might destabilize everything. Second, Lianzhou was the foundation of their future rule. Huang Chao did not want to leave the city's defenders and civilians with impressions of "foreign conquerors."

In the flower hall of Lianzhou's prefectural yamen, Prefect Cui Shizhao was conferring with the city's gentry on strategy. The Eight Pai Yao had retreated, but one crisis had given way to another—Lianzhou was still besieged. The Australians who had replaced the Yao were far more fearsome. In the old timeline, the Lianzhou Gazetteer recorded that during Cui Shizhao's tenure, his moral influence had reformed the rebellious Yao and peacefully resolved the Chongzhen 8th Year uprising. But in this timeline, with the Liangguang Campaign as an additional variable, Cui Shizhao had had no chance to reform the Eight Pai before encountering the Australian Elders—and his virtue could certainly not reform these crude brutes.

Cui Shizhao at least knew something of the Eight Pai Yao—he recognized some of their leaders, and many in the city had dealings with them and could speak with them. But how to deal with the Australians, who had come from who-knew-where, was utterly unknown to anyone.

Cui Shizhao had heard of the Australians. To him, they were "overseas pirates"—capable of raiding Qiongzhou and harassing Guangzhou, perhaps, but distant concerns with little relevance to him. Only when news of the Australians' attack on Guangzhou reached him did he realize they were not mere sea raiders but had grander ambitions.

To the envoys the Australians had sent demanding surrender, Cui Shizhao's responses were "refuse to meet," "refuse to surrender," and "refuse to leave." As Magistrate of Lianzhou under the Great Ming, he could not possibly submit. Abandoning his post to flee was equally against his principles. And so, somewhat stubbornly, he remained.

Yet another morning of "deliberation" dissolved into aimless chatter. Cui Shizhao sighed, then glanced at the two juren of the Mo family: Mo Jin, son of the Tianqi-era jinshi Mo Yuqi, and his younger cousin Mo Yang. Mo Yuqi had passed the jinshi examination at sixty-three, served a single term as Judge of Taiping Prefecture in Nanjing, resigned, and soon after died. Mo Yuqi had been renowned for his scholarship and had meticulously educated his sons and nephews, producing two juren in Mo Jin and Mo Yang. The Mo family thus commanded great respect in Lianzhou, and Cui Shizhao valued their opinions.

But Mo Jin and Mo Yang exchanged a tacit glance and continued sipping their tea in silence.

Cui Shizhao then looked at the Zeng brothers: Zeng Rushao and Zeng Ruzuan, grandsons of the Wanli-era Hanlin scholar Ma Xiangqian. Ma Xiangqian had risen to Investigating Censor of the Henan Circuit in the Court of Censors and had successfully impeached the powerful eunuch Zhang Jing of the Eastern Depot during the Wanli reign. Afterward, he resigned and returned to Lianzhou, reverting to his original surname Zeng, and devoted himself to historical studies until his death. Now, the Zeng brothers were old men in their fifties and sixties; after sitting all morning, they had grown weary and were dozing off, oblivious to Cui Shizhao's gaze.

With neither the Mo nor the Zeng family offering opinions, Cui Shizhao found the situation tedious. He looked to Ma Chengxiang, a friend of the Mo family, but Ma Chengxiang likewise seemed disinclined to speak. The other notables—He Liangtian, Zhou Hong, Shi Yuheng, and their ilk—all wore expressions that said they preferred to stay silent.

With no other recourse, Cui Shizhao turned to his closest friend in Lianzhou, Ma Tiyi. Ma Tiyi shook his head. Cui Shizhao knew that, once again, they would reach no conclusion. He offered an exit: "The noon hour approaches. Please return home and rest, all of you. Take care not to suffer the heat. We shall resume discussion of repelling the enemy tomorrow."

How to repel the enemy—they had debated this endlessly. When the Eight Pai Yao were besieging the city, they had reached no conclusion; now, facing the far more formidable Australians, the prospects were even bleaker. A few armchair scholars who never set foot outside insisted there must be some stratagem, yet could never articulate one—and anyone who listened could tell it was pure fantasy.

These past few days had been quiet mainly because everyone was talked out and weary of talking—empty words, repeated a thousand times, remained empty words.

Fortunately, the Australians showed no intention of assaulting the city, so Lianzhou continued to hold out in stalemate. The city's granaries had never been well-stocked; as supplies dwindled, the gruel stations had cut back from twice daily to once, and the gruel itself had grown thinner and thinner. Cui Shizhao had earned respect in Lianzhou, and the gentry were willing to donate grain for relief. But if they had to keep contributing, even their own household stores would be depleted. Unlike the countryside, the city lacked large reserves. The salt merchants would have gladly offered bribes to buy their safety, but all they had was salt and silver—neither of which Cui Shizhao needed.

During the Yao siege, the city's gentry had stood united, willing to sacrifice everything if necessary. A Yao breakthrough meant losing not just property but their lives. But the moment the Australians took over the siege, opinions diverged—by all accounts, the Australians were far more civilized than the Yao. Timely submission would supposedly guarantee the safety of both persons and property. Both the Mo and Zeng families believed it might be worth negotiating with the Australians for an "honorable outcome" that would spare them all from mutual destruction. Even Ma Tiyi, Cui Shizhao's closest friend, urged him to negotiate for a "graceful conclusion."

But Cui Shizhao would not accept it—an "honorable outcome" was still surrender!

Cui Shizhao cared deeply about his reputation. Yet the granary's true state forced him to weigh the lives of the entire city against his posthumous name. The shops had long since run dry of grain; only well-to-do households and the great families retained any stores. The official granary was nearly empty. The line at the gruel station grew longer every day. In a few more days, he knew, he would not have a single grain of rice left to cook porridge for the refugees. Lianzhou was on the brink of starvation.

(End of Chapter)