Great Song Dynasty Writer

Chapter 167 Yujing Jian

The team set off again the following morning.

Although the mountain road still winds through the mountains, the road conditions have improved considerably.

The road surface wasn't particularly wide, but it was relatively flat, clearly having been deliberately maintained and compacted to ensure the vital supply of salt.

Upon inquiry, Lu Beigu learned that this road was built 43 years ago, in the sixth year of the Dazhong Xiangfu era, when the Song army constructed Jingtan Fortress as a border stronghold to defend against the Wuman people. It was a road built along the way to ensure military transportation and was called "Jingtan Road".

After walking a while longer, the mountains suddenly became gentler, and many hilly areas appeared.

Meanwhile, along the way, some simple shacks and small plots of land began to appear sporadically, planted with crops that could withstand poor soil, such as taro and buckwheat.

"From here on, there are more familiar colleagues."

The mountainous area in the south of Luzhou is mostly inhabited by the Liao people, with only the southernmost part bordering the Wuman tribe.

The Liao people are divided into two categories: raw Liao and accustomed Liao. Raw Liao are those who live in the mountains and forests and do not obey orders, while accustomed Liao are those who are actually ruled by the Song Dynasty and registered as commoners.

However, whether they were new or familiar with the officials, life was not easy for them.

Because the Sheng Liao would face the Wu Man tribe's exploitative plundering, not only their property but also their people would be taken away as slaves, and the able-bodied men would be incorporated into the army to serve as cannon fodder when the Wu Man tribe attacked the Song Dynasty.

While the life of the skilled workers was relatively stable, they usually had to perform heavy labor in the salt wells just to make ends meet, and they were also threatened by the invasion of the Wuman. The Song army was not responsible for protecting them; for the Song soldiers in Yujingjian, their only task was to protect the salt wells.

In this relatively flat hilly area, Lu Beigu occasionally saw vendors carrying heavy baskets on their backs, as well as ordinary Liao people dressed in linen tunics with blank expressions. When these people saw the fully armed army from afar, they hurriedly hid behind the bushes or rocks by the roadside, their eyes filled with fear.

As the group continued south, the faint smell of salty fish and sulfur in the air became increasingly strong and pungent.

"The Yujing Bureau is just ahead."

At noon, Supervisor Liang suddenly broke the dull atmosphere of the march by pointing to the entrance of a valley surrounded by two mountain ridges.

Lu Beigu perked up and looked in that direction.

At the mouth of the valley, a fortified wall guards a strategic point. Several slightly worn "Song" banners stand on the wall, and the figures of patrolling soldiers can be vaguely seen, but the appearance inside is not discernible.

“As early as the Han and Jin dynasties, the Liao people here planted purple bamboo to use as fuel for salt production.” Fan Xiang had obviously done his homework before coming. “During the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period, the pseudo-Shu king established Yujing Town here.”

Once the group entered the city gate, the scene before them suddenly opened up, which gave Lu Beigu a jolt.

The entire salt field was surrounded by two layers of walls. The outer wall looked very new and was constructed of pure brick and stone, which was rare in that era. The inner wall, on the other hand, was built of rammed earth and large timbers.

Looking down from the city wall, the inner wall reveals a massive cluster of workshops built against the mountainside, completely transformed by a large-scale salt industry, exuding a raw and rugged sense of industrial power.

The first thing that catches the eye is the numerous salt well frames scattered across the hillside.

Huge logs and thick bamboo are used to build a towering wooden structure that resembles a giant windlass. This is the derrick that draws brine from deep underground.

The heavy brine-drawing cylinders, slowly lifted by oxen or manpower, emitted a dull, continuous creaking sound. Turbid brine was drawn from the wellhead and flowed gurglingly along bamboo axles supported by wooden stakes, converging like veins towards the lower, steaming salt-boiling area in the center of the valley. The strong aroma of brine permeating the air originated from this area. The center of the valley was the true core, a slightly flatter area densely packed with hundreds of enormous salt-making furnaces.

The stoves are built of rough stones and yellow mud, each more than ten feet wide, with several or even a dozen huge cast iron pots for boiling salt on them, which are called "pan iron" locally.

At this moment, more than half of the stoves were burning fiercely, with thick firewood crackling and popping inside the firebox, and crimson flames greedily licking the thick bottom of the pots.

The brine in the pot boiled and steamed violently, and thick white smoke mixed with scalding steam rose into the sky, enveloping most of the valley in a hazy, suffocating mist.

The pungent smell made every breath feel like a burning sensation, and made one's throat feel tight.

In this inferno of thick smoke, steam, and high temperatures, thousands of stove workers toiled like ants.

Most of them were bare-chested, with only a tattered piece of linen around their waists that was so worn that the color was no longer discernible. Their skin was dark and shiny from being scorched by the ever-burning stove fire, as if coated with a layer of black glaze. When they worked, sweat would flow like streams between the grooves of their bulging muscles, only to be instantly dried by the scorching heat, leaving behind streaks of glaring white salt frost.

Some people kept stuffing firewood into the stove, the firelight illuminating their numb faces, while others wielded long-handled iron shovels, stirring vigorously in the boiling brine to prevent the salt from burning at the bottom.

Near the stoves where the salt was being boiled to its later stages, there were cooks using huge iron shovels to scoop up the coarse, snow-white salt grains that were gradually separating from the pot, and pile them on bamboo mats or thick wooden boards spread out next to them to drain.

Descending from the outer city wall, the ground beneath their feet was a dark gray mud, mixed with scattered salt grains, wood ash, and charcoal ash, which crunched underfoot.

The surrounding hillsides had long been cleared bare, and the exposed rocks were blackened by years of thick smoke.

Between the outer and inner city walls, near the edge of the salt-making area, there were some low thatched huts or shacks built haphazardly, which were the homes of these salt-making workers and their families.

Several children, equally ragged and emaciated, chased and cried near the shack or in the muddy open space, or carefully picked up the scattered, muddy pieces of salt and eagerly put them into their mouths to suck.

For them, this salty taste is a rare and genuine flavor they can experience in their impoverished lives.

Beyond the laborers working in the kitchen, a few figures, dressed relatively neatly, could be seen moving about. They were minor officials within the prison—perhaps supervisors, weighers, storekeepers, or overseers hired by the government.

The overseer was clearly different from the others. He often carried a leather whip or a short hardwood stick, coldly surveying each worker in the kitchen, and would occasionally issue stern rebukes. The whip tip would also crack in the air to urge them on.

Further out, closer to the outer city wall, there are many relatively neat houses, some even with tiled roofs, which stand in stark contrast to the surrounding shacks.

Those were the residences of the supervisors, garrison officers, and a few Han merchants who were granted special permission to operate here, responsible for supplying firewood and grain to the salt fields or for some of the salt transport. Although simple, they were the most prestigious places in this salt-producing region.

They stood silently between the inner and outer city walls, looking down at the salt wells below, which were shrouded in smoke yet seemed lifeless.

Lu Beigu's gaze swept over the brine-drawing derricks that stood like giant skeletons, over the billowing smoke, over the boiling salt pots, and finally lingered on the stove workers who toiled like animals in the high temperature and smoke.

It felt as if a huge rock soaked in brine was lodged in his chest, so heavy that he could hardly breathe.

The scene before him made him truly realize how many people's lives he had completely changed by his words and deeds.

He also saw the "cost" of every grain of salt—it wasn't just the hard work of felling giant trees in the deep mountains, but also the countless strong laborers who, day after day and year after year, were overdrawing their lives in this environment filled with toxic smoke and scorching heat.

The enormous salt profits of Yujing Salt Bureau supported the financial foundation of the imperial court, supporting officials at all levels, soldiers guarding the borders, and merchants traveling back and forth. However, it left the lowest level of producers, especially those who were regarded as "barbarians" and who bore the hardest and most tiring work, struggling on the edge of an abyss of hunger and cold!
(End of this chapter)