Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

In the third year of the Chongzhen reign, in March, in Shaanxi.

It has been seven months since it rained.

Last autumn was dry, winter was snowless, and this spring there has been no rain at all.

The loess soil in northern Shaanxi is cracked like a tortoise shell, with crisscrossing fissures that can reach up to your wrist.

When the wind blows, fine dust flies up, obscuring the sky and the sun.

Looking into the distance, the world was bathed in a dim yellow light, as if God had scattered endless ashes on this land.

On the official road of Yan'an Prefecture, a gaunt old man leaned on a withered tree branch and moved forward step by step.

His name is Liu Laosi, and he is a farmer from Bao'an County.

Last autumn's grain harvest failed completely, and winter wheat couldn't be planted either—the land was too dry, and the seeds, once sown, couldn't even sprout.

The family's food supplies were all gone, the tree bark was all gnawed away, and they couldn't even dig up any clay.

My wife starved to death last month. My daughter-in-law took my grandson and fled the famine. My son followed a group of starving people south, saying he was going to Xi'an to find a way to survive, but we haven't heard from him since.

Liu Laosi didn't know where he was going.

All he knew was that staying in the village meant waiting to die.

Go outside; maybe you can live a few more days.

Along both sides of the official road lay corpses of the starving.

Some of the skeletons had dried up to skin and bones, with sunken eye sockets, shrunken lips, and exposed white teeth, as if they were screaming silently.

Some were still fresher, wrapped in tattered cotton wool.

Liu Laosi walked past them without stopping, his eyes blank.

He had seen too much. So much that the string in his heart had snapped; he could no longer feel fear, no longer feel sadness, only one thought remained—keep moving forward and find food.

Beside the official road ahead, there is an old elm tree.

Most of the bark on the tree trunk had been peeled off, revealing the stark white wood.

Several people were squatting under the tree, forming a circle, and throwing stones at something.

As Liu Laosi approached, he saw clearly—they were smashing elm bark.

Smash off the rough outer layer to reveal the relatively soft inner tough skin, then tear it off, stuff it into your mouth, and chew it vigorously.

That stuff was too tough to chew; I could only swallow it with difficulty to fill my burning stomach.

"Hey bro, wanna have a piece?" A middle-aged man painstakingly tore off a small piece from the edge of the bark he was smashing, about half the size of a finger, and handed it to him.

He hesitated as he offered his hand, his eyes involuntarily glancing at the remaining piece in his own hand.

Liu Laosi took it and put it in his mouth.

The rough fibers scraped against my mouth and throat, with almost no taste, only a faint, woody bitterness.

He chewed, chewed hard, then stretched his neck and tried to swallow it down.

The feeling of tree bark scraping against my throat was like swallowing a bunch of needles.

"Are there any edible trees around here?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

The man shook his head and pointed into the distance: "Everything that could be peeled has been peeled clean. Take a look."

Liu Laosi looked in the direction he was pointing.

Along both sides of the official road, all the trees that could be seen—elm, willow, poplar, and locust trees—had been stripped of their bark, their bare trunks gleaming pale in the dim light, like the leg bones of a dead person.

Some trees have died, their branches bare, without a single leaf.

Even the living trees were dying, with thick sap seeping from their peeled trunks, like flowing tears.

"They've dug up all the grass roots too," another person squatting down said weakly. "A few days ago, a group of people came from the south and dug up all the grass roots on the riverbank. They even sifted through the soil. Now the riverbank is as bare as a threshing floor."

"I heard some people eat Guanyin clay," Liu Laosi murmured.

"I ate it." The man smiled bitterly. "After eating it, I couldn't poop. My stomach swelled up like a drum, and I was in so much pain that I rolled around on the ground. Old Wu from our village ate a bowl of Guanyin clay and couldn't poop for three days. He died from bloating. When he died, his stomach was as big as if he was ten months pregnant, his eyes were wide open, and his mouth was agape. He wanted to shout but couldn't."

No one responded.

The group of people silently chewed on tree bark, their eyes vacant as they stared at the distant loess plateau.

The wind blew from the plateau, stirring up clouds of dust that rustled against our faces.

That sound was like God grinding his teeth.

Old Liu continued walking forward, leaning on a withered tree branch.

He didn't know where he could go, or whether he would be able to stand up again tomorrow.

But he knew that stopping here meant death.

Keep moving forward, and perhaps there is still a glimmer of hope.

Even if that glimmer of hope is as faint as a grain of sand in this vast expanse of yellow earth.

---

Yan'an Prefecture City.

Inside the prefectural government office, Prefect Zhang Nian sat in the second hall, looking at a pile of documents on his desk with a troubled expression.

He had served as an official in Shaanxi for more than ten years, rising from county magistrate to prefect. He had witnessed droughts, locust plagues, and wars.

But he had never seen anything like this year, with three disasters striking at once and the land parched and barren.

"Your Excellency, an urgent report from Bao'an County!" A staff member rushed in, holding a document adorned with feathers. "The magistrate of Bao'an County reports that the county's grain reserves are exhausted, and starving people are resorting to cannibalism. The county treasury is empty, and there is no capacity to provide relief. He requests the prefectural government to urgently allocate 5,000 shi of grain."

"Five thousand shi?" Zhang Nian smiled wryly. "Where am I supposed to conjure up five thousand shi of grain for him?"

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the old locust tree in the yard that had just sprouted tender buds.

It's March, the trees are budding, but it still doesn't rain.

From August of last year until now, not a drop of rain has fallen in Yan'an Prefecture.

Without planting winter wheat, spring plowing is out of the question.

The government's grain reserves, after being used up over the winter, have been almost depleted.

The disaster relief grain allocated by the imperial court was reduced at each level, and by the time it reached him, only 30% remained out of 100.

This 30% of grain is like a drop in the ocean when it comes to providing relief to the starving people in the nineteen counties of Yan'an Prefecture.

"Your Excellency, there is another document, an official letter from the Governor of Shaanxi." The aide carefully handed over another document.

Zhang Nian took it, opened it, and read it carefully word by word.

After reading it, his expression turned even uglier.

"What did the governor's office say?" the aide asked in a low voice.

"The governor said that the Ministry of Revenue has approved the disaster relief funds from the imperial court, but they haven't been disbursed yet." Zhang Nian threw the official document on the table, his voice full of exhaustion. "He ordered all prefectures and counties to 'find ways to appease the starving people on the spot and prevent any unrest. Find ways to appease them on the spot... what can I do? I can't summon wind and rain, nor can I turn stones into gold."

The staff member lowered his head, not daring to speak.

Zhang Nian gazed out the window and remained silent for a long time.

"Mr. Cao," he suddenly spoke, "do you think Heaven is punishing the Ming Dynasty?"

The aide trembled: "Your Excellency, please be careful what you say!"

"Be careful what you say?" Zhang Nian turned around, his face full of bitterness. "I, Zhang Nian, served as an official in Shaanxi for over a decade, and I've watched this place grow poorer and more chaotic year after year. The harvests from the fields are decreasing year by year, and the taxes from the imperial court are increasing year by year. The people have eaten all the tree bark, dug up all the grass roots, and started eating clay... and even cannibalism. How can you expect me to be careful what I say?"

His voice grew louder and louder until it was almost a shout.

The staff member was so frightened that he knelt down and dared not raise his head.

Zhang Nian looked at him, suddenly deflated, and waved his hand.

"Alright, alright. Get up. Go and squeeze out as much grain as possible from the treasury and send five hundred shi to Bao'an County. I know it's not enough, but it's better than nothing."

"Your Excellency, the granary is running low on grain. If we squeeze any more, we'll have to..."

"We can still gnaw on tree bark for a few more days," Zhang Nian interrupted him. "Those starving people don't even have tree bark left to gnaw on. Go on."

The aide opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing more, bowed, and withdrew.

Zhang Nian stood alone by the window, gazing at the old locust tree in the courtyard.

The tender buds trembled on the branches, carrying a hint of stubborn green.

Spring has arrived, and all things are reviving. But the people of this land are dying one after another. He closed his eyes, and two streams of tears slid down his aged cheeks.

"God, please open your eyes," he murmured.

Outside the window, the wind whipped up yellow dust, howling past. Heaven offered no answer.