Han Ji

April of the fifteenth year of Xingping. Ji County.

The army returning from Bailang Mountain set up camp outside Jixian City. The camp stretched for several miles, tents next to tents, and rows of hearths dug into the thawed ground. Smoke rose, carried away by the spring breeze, drifting over the pass and into the fields south of the Great Wall.

The surrendered Wuhuan soldiers were settled in a newly designated camp north of Ji County. The camp was surrounded on three sides by a wooden fence, with the north side open, facing the grassland. The tents were captured Wuhuan tents, sewn from cowhide, some still with arrow holes, through which the wind howled.

The surrendered soldiers squatted outside the tents basking in the sun. Some were slicing horse meat with knives, some were sewing up their torn fur coats with bone needles, and some were lying on the ground sleeping with their faces buried in the dry grass, snoring loudly.

After Tadun died, they showed no emotion, eating and sleeping as usual. The people of the grasslands were used to changing masters. Yesterday it was Tadun, today it's Liu Bei, and tomorrow who knows who it will be. As long as they're alive, that's enough.

Jian Yong emerged from Ji County, carrying a thick stack of household registration books. He stopped at the entrance of the surrendered soldiers' camp, placed the books on the ground, and opened to the first page.

"Name?"

The first surrendered soldier squatted on the ground and looked up at him. He was a Wuhuan man in his forties, his face weathered by wind and sand like old tree bark, with a scar across his left eye that ran from his eyebrow to his cheekbone. His eyeball was still there, but his vision was blurry. He gave his name in broken Chinese: "Ke Zui."

"tribe?"

"Tadon Headquarters. Horse Herding."

How many people are left in the family?

"Wife. Two kids. A lame old mother." Ke Zui pointed to the tent behind him. The tent flap was lifted slightly, revealing a woman's face and the heads of two children. The children were filthy, their hair matted together, and snot hung from their lips, dried and crusted white.

Jian Yong wrote in his notebook: Ke Zui, Tadun Headquarters, Horse Herding, Family Member Four. After finishing, he looked up at Ke Zui. "Do you know how to farm?"

"Won't."

"Would you like to learn?"

Ke was stunned for a moment. No one had ever asked him if he wanted to learn farming. He glanced back at the mouths in the tent, then turned back. "Yes."

Jian Yong nodded and walked to the next person. The registration took three whole days. Each surrendered soldier had to be asked for his name, tribe, skills, and family. Those who could herd horses were assigned to the horse farm, those who could forge blacksmiths were sent to the workshop, those who could farm were allocated land, and the young and strong who knew nothing were assigned to the replenishment camp.

The elderly, women, and children were resettled with land, each receiving thirty mu (approximately 2 hectares) and exempt from taxes for two years. The women and children in the tents were allocated a piece of river valley land north of Ji County and south of Yuyang. The ground had not yet fully thawed, but the soil was black and sticky to the touch—ideal for growing crops.

Jian Yong was adept at handling civil affairs. He had surveyed the fields in Youzhou and knew where there was wasteland, water sources, and canals. He had three deep wells dug at the settlement of surrendered soldiers, with the well walls lined with stones to prevent children from falling in.

They also had two irrigation canals dug in the valley to bring the mountain stream water into the fields. The canals were not wide, only about two feet wide and a little over a foot deep. The water was so clear that you could see the reflection on the stones at the bottom of the canals.

Besides the surrendered soldiers, there were also a large number of Han Chinese returning from beyond the Great Wall. These people were not refugees. They were border residents who had been captured by the Wuhuan during Yuan Shao's reign, as well as farmers who fled from Hebei to beyond the Great Wall around the time of the Battle of Guandu.

They spent several years, even more than a decade, on the grasslands, herding livestock, growing millet, and tanning hides for the Wuhuan people. They were often hungry but never died of the cold. Hearing that Liu Bei was going to settle the surrendered people after White Wolf Mountain, these people brought their families and walked back from the depths of the grasslands.

Some people walked over a hundred miles, while others walked several hundred miles. By the time they reached the outskirts of Jixian County, their shoes were worn through, and their feet were wrapped in tattered cloths. The tattered cloths were stuck to the scabs on the soles of their feet, and they couldn't be torn off.

Liu Bei stood on the city wall of Ji County, watching these people walk over one after another from the official road to the north. Some were pushing wheelbarrows with old people and children sitting on them, the wheels creaking and groaning as they rolled along the dirt road.

Some carried bundles on their backs, stuffed with a few tattered clothes and some dry biscuits. Others carried only a pot, its bottom blackened and its rim chipped, but this pot was their family's only possession.

A woman was holding a nursing baby in her arms and leading a toddler by the hand. The toddler, still unsteady on his feet, stepped into a rut and fell. The woman tucked the baby under her arm, bent down to pull the toddler up, and saw that his knee was scraped and blood was seeping out. The baby opened his mouth and cried. The woman patted the dirt off the baby's bottom, squatted down to blow on the baby's knee, and continued walking.

"Open the warehouse," Liu Bei said.

Jian Yong said that the Changping Granary in Ji County had more than 50,000 shi of grain, which was enough. He ordered people to set up soup kitchens outside the city. Ten large pots were lined up in a row. The pots were brought from the military camp's kitchen. The bottoms of the pots were covered with black scorch from cooking porridge, which could not be washed clean, and black residue floated in the fresh porridge.

The porridge was made from a mixture of millet and beans, cooked until it was so thick that a chopstick inserted into it could stand upright. The Han Chinese who had surrendered lined up, holding broken bowls, waiting for the porridge. Some, without bowls, used leaves folded into funnels to hold the porridge; the porridge leaked through the leaves, scalding their hands, but they couldn't bear to throw it away. Some, impatient, squatted by the porridge stall and ate with their hands, blowing on it to keep it hot before stuffing it into their mouths.

Jian Yong dispatched officials from the Youzhou Prefectural Governor's Office to register these surrendered people. Their place of origin, original home, number of family members, skills, and willingness to farm were all recorded. Those willing to farm were allocated land, while those unwilling were incorporated into workshops or supplementary camps.

Households were registered one by one, and several hundred households could be registered each day. By the third day of registration, people in the resettlement sites of various counties had begun to move in. The old house foundations were reinforced, the smoke from the newly cultivated land rose from the burned weeds, and the first batch of millet seeds were planted on the field ridges.

That day, a group of people from the west arrived outside Ji County. They were not Wuhuan, but Qiang people from Liangzhou. There were about seven or eight hundred of them, riding short-legged horses, with hides and medicinal herbs on their backs.

The leader was named Riwo, a minor chieftain of the Wuhuan Shaobao Qiang tribe. He was in his thirties, with a square face and an old knife scar across his nose. He dismounted outside Jixian City and shouted at the city's guards in a loud voice, his words a mix of Han and Qiang languages, which was barely understandable.

"We are from the Shaobao Qiang Riwo tribe! We heard that the Prime Minister killed Tadun in the north, so we have come to submit!!"

The county soldier reported in. Liu Bei was in the governor's mansion looking at the resettlement list that Jian Yong had just sent. After listening to his personal guard's words, he placed the list on the table.

"Let them in."

Riwo led several Qiang people into the main hall of the governor's mansion. Their fur coats smelled strongly of mutton, leaving a trail of odor as they walked. Riwo knelt on one knee according to Qiang custom, presenting a white hada (ceremonial scarf) with both hands. The hada was made of rough wool and covered with bits of grass.

"Prime Minister, Riwo has brought 780 people, 1,200 horses, and 3,000 sheep from his tribe to seek refuge with you. Please take him in."

Liu Bei took the hada (ceremonial scarf) and placed it on the table. "Why have you come?"

"Rumors are circulating on the grasslands that the Prime Minister killed Tadun at White Wolf Mountain. The three Wuhuan tribes are now leaderless, and each tribe is vying for pastures. Our small Qiang tribe is caught in the middle and will be swallowed up sooner or later. Rather than be swallowed up, we might as well find a big tree to lean on."