Taiping Dao at the end of the Han Dynasty

Chapter 22 The Unchangeable Time of the Uprising

In the eighth month of the lunar calendar, mid-autumn has arrived. In the rural areas of Jizhou, there is much busy farm work. The harvest of reeds and rushes in August is for weaving straw mats and baskets, or drying them for fuel. The spinning and weaving process takes place in August, producing hemp cloth. Of course, the most important thing in August is the autumn harvest.

Spring sowing in March and autumn harvest in August—the harvest is of millet planted in spring. It is the harvest season, and even with little rain, the fragrance of grain wafts through the fields, bringing joy to the heart.

"The harvest was plentiful, the accumulations were abundant. It rose high like a wall, as neat as a comb. With it, a hundred rooms were opened. When the hundred rooms were full, women and children found peace..."

"The sickles swirl in unison as the harvest begins, the threshed grain piled high. The mounds rise like city walls, the sides like comb teeth. Hundreds of granaries open. Each granary is full, and women and children are at peace!..."

Zhang Chengfu, covered in sweat, carried a shovel used for digging sand and led dozens of children back from the riverbank where they had dug the pond. As he walked, he looked at the millet fields after the harvest and sang the agricultural song "Zhou Song: Liang Si," which was also a guiding poem for production and sacrifice.

He was exhausted from digging all day, but his heart was filled with joy. He walked across the fields with a smile and returned to the village to prepare dinner for the children. However, as soon as he arrived at the village's granary, he saw the village head, Old Zhang, with his head down, stomping over the grain in the threshing ground outside the granary, looking quite worried.

"After autumn, when millet is dried in the sun in the courtyard, one should step on it..."

Piles of golden millet lay drying in the threshing ground, not very high. Freshly harvested millet has a high moisture content, so it needs to be dried for eight to ten days, still attached to the stalks, in its "millet" form, before it can be hulled and stored in the granary. This process allows it to absorb as much of the remaining nutrients from the stalks as possible, hoping to slightly increase the yield.

"Hmm? The harvest from the village this time... isn't much!"

Zhang Chengfu estimated that the millet harvested from this threshing ground was only about three or four hundred bushels. Could this be all the four or five hundred mu of millet fields that had already been harvested in the entire estate? He quickly went to check the most important granary and indeed there was no other millet, only a small amount of old millet, dried wheat, and beans, as well as some harvested hemp.

The poem "July" from the Book of Odes of Bin states, "In the ninth month, threshing floors are built; in the tenth month, the grains are harvested. Millet, sorghum, rice, hemp, beans, and wheat." At this time, the main crops in the entire land of China were millet, sorghum, early rice, late rice, foxtail millet, hemp, beans, and wheat. Other grains had not yet been introduced.

"Grandpa Zhang, the autumn harvest millet smells wonderful! How much millet did you harvest per mu this spring?"

"Alas! There's been too little rain. The yield of spring millet is less than one bushel per mu. In good years, it would yield two bushels!"

"Not even a single bushel of millet?"

"No, that's not true. One bushel is ten pecks, but this year, most of the millet fields only yielded a little over eight pecks per mu, still short by one or two pecks... Alas!..."

Zhang Chengfu looked around before walking over to Old Man Zhang, the village head, and asked him a couple of questions with a smile. In the threshing ground, Old Man Zhang looked up and noticed Zhang Chengfu's presence, letting out a sigh. His face was lined with wrinkles as he counted on his fingers, carefully explaining to Zhang Chengfu, his voice filled with worry, even a hint of fear.

"This year, the village planted 1,000 mu of millet and 1,000 mu of wheat. The millet was sown in spring and harvested in autumn, while the wheat was sown in winter and harvested in summer. Today, due to the drought, the summer wheat harvest only yielded 1.5 hu per mu, which is half of what it used to be. And the autumn millet harvest is just as bad, with more than half of the harvest lost!..."

"Now, it's up to you and the boys to take charge of the thousand acres of beans you planted this summer. Hopefully, we can see how much we can harvest in October. But bean yields aren't high to begin with, so this will only slightly offset the losses..."

"The old man couldn't sleep at all when he thought about the drought coming next year! There's an old saying: three years of good harvests are needed to store enough food for a year. But these past few years have been plagued by disasters. How many ordinary families have enough grain to last a year? Even in our village, the government doesn't collect much rent, only enough for eight or nine months' worth of food… Next year will be tough. I wonder how many people will starve to death!…"

"Next year's drought..."

Hearing Zhang Agong's heartfelt fear, Zhang Chengfu silently calculated in his mind, his brows furrowing.

This bushel of millet weighs about 50-60 catties. The drought directly reduced the yield of millet to just over 50 catties per mu. Even if we try every means to save money, the harvest from this mu can only feed a strong farmhand for two months, and usually only for a month and a half.

In years without drought, one mu of dry millet field could yield two hu of harvest per year, and four mu were enough to feed one person. If one mu of wheat and soybean intercropped in well-irrigated fields were planted, it could yield more than four hu of harvest per year, and two mu would be enough to feed one person!
Of course, this was under the condition that the imperial court did not collect taxes. This estate was protected by the Taiping Dao, so the government only collected one-tenth of the land rent and one hundred and twenty cents in taxes. As for ordinary people, the various taxes levied by the imperial court often amounted to half of what they earned in a normal year.

Based on this calculation, a middle-class farming family of four, including the elderly, women, and children (counting as half able-bodied men), would be equivalent to three able-bodied men. They would need thirty mu of dry land to survive and save four or five bushels of grain each year. If they saved in this way for three to five years, they could barely withstand a year of disaster and avoid immediate bankruptcy.

However, when droughts strike repeatedly, the fragile balance is immediately shattered! Farm yields can drop by half or more! Even middle-class farming families often only have enough stored grain to survive one drought, with provisions left for the following year. Lower-class families must reduce their household size, sacrifice an elderly or infirm member, or sell their land to become impoverished, just to ensure their survival into the next year…

But if a drought breaks out again in the second year, or even in the third year, more than 80% of ordinary farmers, including the wealthier ones, will be completely impoverished and unable to survive!
"Zhonghuang Taiyi! If Jizhou suffers another drought next year, resulting in a large-scale reduction in summer grain production, then by the autumn harvest in June or July next year, farmers throughout Jizhou will begin to go bankrupt on a large scale! They simply won't be able to pay the imperial court's summer taxes, and they won't even be able to keep their crops!"

"At that time, the land of Hebei will be filled with refugees. In order to find a bite to eat, they will flee from famine, sell their children, and even resort to cannibalism. The autumn harvest next August will be reduced by more than half due to drought, and the only autumn grain will last until the beginning of the year after next, after which it will be completely exhausted. From then on, there will be no more grain, and no more planting in the fields... There will truly be no way to survive and no hope! At that time, there will inevitably be hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of starving refugees!"

"Therefore, according to this calculation, the Yellow Turban Rebellion in the spring of the year after next is an inevitable consequence of the three-year drought! Unless there is a major change in the celestial phenomena, turning next year's drought into a year of abundant rainfall, or unless the government provides large-scale relief, amounting to millions of bushels... otherwise, the spring of the year after next, when millions of farmers run out of food, will be the day our Taiping Dao raises its army!..."

Having figured all this out, Zhang Chengfu lowered his eyes. He now understood why his master, Zhang Jiao, had said that the Yellow Turban followers in Jizhou couldn't wait that long, nor could the millions of farmers on both sides of the river.

Under the heavy taxes and continuous disasters of the late Eastern Han Dynasty, countless farmers along the Yellow River were rapidly becoming impoverished. They struggled on the brink of survival, barely managing to break even, and small-scale peasant uprisings were already frequent. When the three-year drought arrived, it was the "last straw," crushing the most impoverished people north and south of the Yellow River—those countless farmers living in abject poverty!
"Hair like chives, cut it and it grows back; head like a rooster, cut it and it crows again. Officials need not be feared, but the common people should never be underestimated..."

Zhang Chengfu lowered his head and softly recited this nursery rhyme that was spreading throughout the Han Dynasty. The world was already piled high with firewood, waiting for the heavens to drop the torch that would ignite a prairie fire. But what could he do before this cataclysmic event arrived?

"Phew!...I can only keep moving forward, one step at a time. Keep moving forward!"

Zhang Chengfu said this to himself. The village head, Old Zhang, sighed, muttered a few more words, and then asked.

"Chengfu, how's the digging of the pond going?"

"The tributary of the Ming River has already been dammed and its course altered. The natural embankment on the side closest to the riverbank has also been cleared and reinforced, and some gravel has been laid on it. As for the earthwork at the bottom of the hundred-acre plot, we've only just started, digging out a few acres. I just came to check on things; the millet harvest is finished in the village, and the able-bodied men are free, so we can mobilize them to dig the earth!..."

"Ah! Yes! We should mobilize the whole village to dig a pond! Hmm... the village only has a few dozen shovels, hoes, and picks, and more wooden tools, but not enough for so many people. Why not split them into two groups, one digging while the other starts building the dam? Building a dam is a slow job; it has to be done section by section, inch by inch!..." "Alright! Then Grandpa will direct the dam-building side! I'll manage the digging. And Grandpa Li will oversee the whole operation, making rounds and checking on everything!..."

"Alright! I'll gather the whole village right away and assign work to every household! I'll also have carpenter Wang and stonemason Sun make a few more large wooden and stone ramming mallets!"

Without further ado, the work in the fields couldn't be delayed. Soon, two hundred able-bodied men from the village went to work on the ponds, while another hundred women and children prepared food and supplies, and helped deliver tools and water. The more than five hundred children were divided into two shifts, half tending and weeding the mature bean fields, and the other half working on the ponds. Their physical strength was limited, and they couldn't work continuously; they had to take turns.

"Splash... Splash!..."

The shovel fell, soil was tossed up, sweat soaked the muddy ground, and the sun tanned necks. Digging earth was truly hard work; a strong man could dig from dawn till dusk and probably only manage one or two cubic meters of soil. It depended mainly on the tools he used and the terrain.

For fields that have already been cleared, digging is much easier; a shovel is all you need. But for the surrounding wasteland that hasn't been cleared, you have to use a shovel, a hoe, and a pickaxe all at once. First, loosen the soil, then dig out tree roots and rocks, and finally, the easiest part is digging.

"Up...down...hey...yo!..."

"Bang...bang!..."

A rammed earth hammer weighing one or two hundred pounds is lifted by ten men and then slammed down on the ground, compacting the soil layer and producing a resounding sound! This is the "multiple hammers working together" method of ramming earth, a collaborative effort of many.

The tool used for ramming earth is called a ramming hammer, usually made of heavy wood with stones and iron plates inlaid at the bottom to increase weight and hardness. This method of ramming earth was already widespread in the Guandong region during the construction of roads in the Former Qin Dynasty, and it was the most important construction method in all river repair projects. Whether building the foundation or the dam, compacting the earth layer requires concerted effort and forceful pounding!

"By the Supreme God! Master of the Burial Talisman, you asked if there are any assembled tamping hammers or pile hammers? Where did you hear about them? These machines are extremely rare. Ordinary people, even ordinary nobles, have never even heard of them. Only the old officials in charge of the river in the prefecture, and old river workers like us, know about them."

"Let me think, the prefectural and county treasuries of Wei Commandery might have some, there are quite a few good things there. But I guess they've all rotted away... Besides, what need is there for such large machinery when villages and towns are building dams?"

Standing on the riverbank where the dam was being built, Zhang Chengfu, carrying a shovel, found the head hydraulic engineer, Li Laohe. Watching the ramming hammer repeatedly tossed up and down, he couldn't help but ask about the more labor-saving equipment. Li Laohe, however, stared wide-eyed at Zhang Chengfu in surprise and shook his head.

"Back in Emperor Huan's time, pile drivers were indeed used when building large dikes. Those things were difficult to make; both wood and iron were expensive. The technology for making them was also used in warfare..."

"Used in battle? You mean... a battering ram?"

"Ok!"

Li Laohe nodded, his expression somewhat enigmatic. He hesitated for a moment, glanced around, and then whispered.

“Carpenter Wang might be able to build it; he used to be a master craftsman for the government… but with the manpower and number of craftsmen in the village, it would take months to build it… and even if it were built, it wouldn’t last long; the stress points would break quickly. So, it’s just wishful thinking…”

"When Emperor Huan was repairing the river, he used a type of windlass frame to suspend heavy timbers and stones, specifically for driving stone piles into the dam. That was quite difficult; the windlass was particularly prone to breaking, unless one could use precious ironwood..."

"A wooden frame pulley?... Oh! It's a crane with pulleys!..."

After listening to Li Laohe's description, Zhang Chengfu thought for a while and understood what it was. He had been here for so long and had never seen such complex machinery before. He had thought it didn't exist, but now it seemed that the cost and technology required to make it were too high, far less useful than the laborers who were randomly conscripted.

Moreover, since Emperor Ling ascended the throne, the court had been rife with bribery and corruption, and the government had rapidly become incompetent, completely losing its ability to construct large-scale water conservancy projects. These inherited engineering techniques were thus buried and forgotten…

"That's true! Manufacturing machinery is too expensive; it's better to use manpower. Small-scale water conservancy projects aren't too difficult; they just require a lot of effort! With unity of purpose, even mountains can be moved. As long as there's enough food and everyone works together, there's nothing that can't be done!..."

Zhang Chengfu nodded and smiled, then shouldered his shovel again, went down to the bottom of the pond, and began digging with all his might. The muddy ground by the river was soft and easy to dig. An average strong man could dig 1-2 cubic meters a day, but with his strength, digging 2-3 cubic meters was not difficult. The work done by this teenager was equivalent to that of two strong men; his strength was astonishing!

Li Laohe stood on the pond, watching the figure digging in the soil below, noticing the beads of sweat dripping from his brow. He gazed at him for a long time with a complex expression before finally letting out a soft sigh of admiration.

"This young talisman master Zhang... I thought he was just talking big, but I didn't expect him to actually take the lead in the work!"

"Phew! Compared to other talisman masters, he's much more approachable, almost like a family member... This Way of Peace, the Way of the People, perhaps it really exists."

The old man's whispers drifted on the wind, the able-bodied men's work chants mingled with the thunderous clang of hammers, and the children's shouts were filled with both childishness and earnestness. Smiles graced everyone's faces as they slowly began to build the initial form of a pond of hope.

As August passed its midpoint and the Mid-Autumn Festival approached, the seventh senior brother, Gao Daonu, finally returned with over forty able-bodied disciples from the southeastern direction of Julu County, having purchased grain.

The group, dressed in yellow turbans and carrying bows and swords, drove a dozen or so oxcarts loaded with grain, proceeding with great caution. Only when they saw the village of Taiping Road did their wariness finally turn into excitement.

"We've arrived at the village! We've arrived at the village!"

"Lü! Lü!"

The neighing of horses made Zhang Chengfu jump up instantly, leaping from the pond to the riverbank and turning his shovel into a spear. But when he looked up nervously, he was astonished to find that his seventh senior brother, whom he had sent out to buy grain, had actually brought back a two-horse carriage.

"What are these? Two horses?!..."

(End of this chapter)