Great Song Dynasty Writer

Chapter 166 The Source of Chaos
Lu Beigu's body swayed with the constant rise and fall of the carriage, and his stomach felt somewhat uncomfortable due to the jolting.

He lifted the curtain of the carriage and looked out, but his view was blocked by layers upon layers of green barriers, and he could not see the end at all. He could only occasionally see steep cliffs, bottomless ravines and dense forests that seemed to be impossible to leave.

A strong sense of insignificance and being swallowed up arises spontaneously.

This was unlike any developed tourist area he remembered from his later years; it was a truly primitive, untamed, and dangerous southwestern frontier.

"Is this your first time venturing deep into the mountains of southern Lu?" Supervisor Liang asked directly, having slowed his horse at some point.

“Indeed, I am ashamed,” Lu Beigu hurriedly replied.

Liang, the military governor, grinned, revealing a set of slightly yellow teeth. As he spoke, his eyes sharply scanned the dark forest on both sides: "This place is not like the city. The Liao people have lived here for generations. They are familiar with the mountains and forests as if they were their own backyard. They do not like to build cities. Instead, they build fortified villages by the mountains and dangerous terrain."

He paused, then gestured with his chin toward a hillside ahead, where the remains of several simple shacks built of rough wood and thatch were faintly visible, though they appeared dilapidated and desolate.

“There was trouble a few years ago. The village was burned down, and the people either died or fled into the deeper mountains.”

Lu Beigu followed his gaze and felt a chill run down his spine.

"Yujing Saltworks is located deep in these mountains, a salt-producing area, but also a source of chaos." Supervisor Liang's voice lowered, tinged with weariness. "The profits from salt are too great. The imperial court wants it, the prefectural government wants it, the Han merchants want it, and the local Liao clans and chieftains want it too. In the end, how much actually ends up in the hands of the Liao salt-producing households who actually do the work? They can't survive, so naturally they rebel. Every time they rebel, it's us soldiers who risk our lives to fill these mountain valleys!"

His words struck Lu Beigu's heart like a cold stone.

But as the saying goes, "Xiang Zhuang's sword dance was aimed at Liu Bang," these words were probably not meant for Lu Beigu, but for Fan Xiang in the carriage.

What Lu Beigu knew before seemed to be most cruelly confirmed in Liang Dujian's rough and straightforward words. No matter how good the new salt law was in theory, if it could not solve the distribution of interests and the survival difficulties at the bottom level, and could not appease the Liao people who had lived here for generations but were constantly being squeezed, the so-called reform was nothing but empty talk, and might even become a spark that ignited a larger powder keg.

Let alone five hundred imperial guards, even if there were five thousand or fifty thousand, how much area could they cover in these vast mountains? And how long could their deterrent effect last?

For the first time, Lu Beigu experienced firsthand what it meant to "see is believing."

"Reading ten thousand books is not enough; you also need to travel ten thousand miles," he thought to himself.

The procession marched in silence, the atmosphere growing increasingly heavy.

The deeper you go into the mountains of southern Sichuan, the fewer people there are.

Occasionally, one can catch a glimpse of simple wooden or bamboo houses appearing on higher mountain ridges or cliffs, but they vanish in an instant, as if they were just an illusion.

Sometimes, a long and strange bird call or the low growl of some wild beast would come from deep in the forest, causing the soldiers to grip their weapons more tightly.

The sound of the mountain stream became clearer, and the air became more humid and cold, carrying a unique, bone-chilling "miasma" feeling characteristic of the mountains.

They traveled along the salt transport road through the mountains for an entire day. Even inside the carriage, Lu Beigu's robe was soaked with sweat and mist, clinging to his body, feeling cold and heavy.

As evening fell, the group set up camp in a relatively open valley with steep cliffs at its back. This was a common campsite along the mountain path, frequented by caravans and hunters, so even snakes and rats, having learned their lesson, rarely approached the area.

The campfire was lit, dispelling the heavy dampness, cold, and darkness.

Under the command of Supervisor Liang, the soldiers skillfully took on various tasks, including setting up tents, cooking meals, and patrolling and scouting.

Liang, the military supervisor, was well-versed in military affairs, and these Imperial Guards were all veterans. Although they looked somewhat listless, they did everything they were supposed to do, and the sentry posts, both overt and covert, were properly deployed. Lu Beigu sat wearily on a large, cleared rock, watching the leaping flames reflect the silent faces of the soldiers around him, listening to the cries of unknown owls deep in the forest, and feeling the pulse of this ancient and wild land emanating from the earth beneath him.

Just then, a soldier on guard duty at the far edge of the camp suddenly shouted in a low voice: "Who goes there?!"

Everyone was instantly alert.

Supervisor Liang sprang up like a cheetah, gripping his sword and striding toward the source of the sound.

Lu Beigu's heart was in his throat. He took a few steps and looked down from the high ground.

Suddenly, the bushes around the camp rustled, and several small figures emerged in a panic, frightened by the soldiers.

They were several ragged, barefoot Liao children, the oldest no more than ten years old and the youngest only five or six, clutching tightly in their hands several unidentified roots that had just been dug up and were covered in soil.

They had come out to gather some food along the road before heading home, but were clearly terrified by the sudden appearance of the massive army. Their little faces were filled with fear, their big, dark eyes were wide open, and their bodies were trembling. They wanted to run but dared not move, like frightened little animals.

Supervisor Liang's tense expression relaxed slightly, and he waved his hand to signal the soldiers on guard not to be nervous.

He took a few steps forward and shouted something in broken Liao language, probably meaning "Don't be afraid".

The children were even more terrified, and the youngest girl burst into tears.

Just then, Lu Beigu noticed that Fan Xiang had also stepped out of the carriage at some point.

He didn't approach, but stood with Lu Beigu at the edge of the campfire's light, quietly watching the terrified and helpless Liao children.

The flickering flames cast dappled light and shadow on his gaunt face, and his deep, calm eyes seemed to be churning with extremely complex and unfathomable emotions—pity, scrutiny, heaviness, and even a penetrating insight that seemed to see right through the chaos.

Fan Xiang's gaze slowly swept over the children's withered hands and feet, their tattered clothes, and the pitiful amount of wild roots they held in their hands to fill their stomachs. Finally, his gaze passed over the children and turned to the direction further south, where Yujing Prison was completely swallowed by the thick night.

His fingers twitched unconsciously and very slightly at his side, as if he were weighing something invisible yet incredibly heavy.

Lu Beigu followed Fan Xiang's gaze into the deep darkness, and Liang Dujian's heavy words echoed in his ears again: "The profits from salt are too great. If people can't survive, they will naturally cause trouble."

Supervisor Liang gave a few instructions in a low voice, and a soldier took out a few hard steamed buns, carefully placed them on the ground, and gestured for the children to take them.

The children hesitated for a moment, but hunger eventually overcame their fear. They quickly grabbed the steamed buns, turned around, and disappeared into the dense bushes as if they had never been there.

The camp returned to calm, with only the crackling of the campfire.

Supervisor Liang returned to the campfire and sat down. He picked up a twig and unconsciously scratched at the ground, his face appearing particularly solemn in the firelight.

Then he stood up and addressed the soldiers.

"When we enter the Yujing prison territory tomorrow, everyone better keep your eyes peeled! This place isn't just about boiling brine in the salt wells!"

The night wind howled through the valley, carrying the chill of early autumn, swirling up a few leaves that disappeared into the boundless darkness.

(End of this chapter)