Cheng Xu accepted the slip of paper with an easy grin, tilting his bamboo hat slightly to block the cold rain as it drummed steadily down. He lifted his brush and, out of long habit, began writing with a confident stroke, starting from the "He" radical and nearly completing the character for "Cheng" before his hand suddenly froze. The tip of the brush hovered in midair for a breath, then hastily changed direction, leaving behind a somewhat awkward but legible signature.
In the end, he barely managed to write the name "He Jiu."
Of course, a radical and a complete character were not the same thing at all.
Wang Tang glanced at the paper, instantly recognizing what Cheng Xu had done. His eyes lingered briefly on that incomplete radical, and understanding dawned at once. He said nothing, merely letting the corner of his mouth curve upward in a faint, knowing smile as he took the paper back and folded it carefully away.
"With you keeping the accounts now," Cheng Xu said casually, "even military supplies need signatures for every transfer. Anyone who wants to skim a little off the top will find it much harder than before."
Wang Tang smiled politely. "Dao Xuan Tianzun said that our generation is the new wave of scholars, while your generation still carries the habits of the old world. If we all continue to do things the same way as before, then this world will never truly move forward."
Cheng Xu snorted. "Are you insulting your elders through roundabout words now? Careful. I'll report you to your father once we get back."
Wang Tang's smile only grew broader. "Those were Dao Xuan Tianzun's exact words. I didn't change a single character. Even my father would have no choice but to accept them."
On Wang Tang's chest, the silver-threaded emblem of Dao Xuan Tianzun seemed almost to come alive, and a soft, amused chuckle rang out. "That's right. Those were exactly my words."
At that point, Cheng Xu could only shake his head and concede the exchange.
Once the grain had been formally handed over, Wang Tang continued with the rest of the supplies. Beans for the warhorses, gunpowder, lead shot, tents and assorted equipment were all checked one by one, counted carefully, and written down with clean, orderly strokes. Not a single item was missed, and not a single number was left vague.
Watching from a short distance away, Ma Xianglin could not help but sigh inwardly. "Xing Honglang truly is remarkable," he thought. "She may have come from bandit stock, but her administration is stricter than anything I have ever seen in the imperial army."
The more he watched, the more bitter his thoughts became. The imperial court was riddled with rot. Officers embezzled rations, sold warhorses in secret, and claimed pay for soldiers who never existed. Every vile trick imaginable had already been tried. And yet here, among these so called pacified bandits, everything was handled with clarity and discipline. Who, then, was the real bandit?
Zhang Fengyi was thinking along the same lines. She glanced at her husband, and he met her eyes. No words were spoken, but the understanding between them was clear. When they returned to Wan Shou Zhai, their Shizhu Tujia stronghold, they would need to study these methods carefully and learn from them.
Xing Honglang soon walked over, rain misting lightly around her as she smiled at the couple. "The provisions have arrived," she said. "This first shipment includes two hundred baskets of flour and fifty baskets of luncheon meat. Each basket weighs one hundred and twenty catties, so that makes thirty thousand catties of food in total. How many men did you bring? Come, claim your share."
"I brought three thousand White Pole Soldiers," Ma Xianglin replied.
"Three thousand?" Xing Honglang repeated thoughtfully. "Then I'll allocate sixty baskets of flour and ten baskets of luncheon meat to you for now."
Ma Xianglin quickly did the math in his head. That was seventy two hundred catties of flour and twelve hundred catties of meat.
It was an astonishing amount.
In these years of famine and chaos, such a quantity of food was almost unthinkable. When the White Pole Soldiers had marched north to serve the emperor, they had been forced to raise much of their own provisions. Later, when they remained in Shanxi to suppress bandits on their return journey, the responsibility for supplying them fell to Song Tongyin, the provincial governor.
Song Tongyin was widely regarded as a good official, honest and diligent. But when it came to provisions, he was so tightfisted that it was like squeezing water from a dry sponge. You pressed with all your strength and got only a trickle, then pressed again for another meager drop.
The Sichuan White Pole Soldiers had always lived on the edge when it came to food.
Ma Xianglin had never expected Xing Honglang to give so much, and to do so without the slightest hesitation.
He looked a little embarrassed as he spoke. "I'll take these provisions as a loan for now. When I return to Sichuan, I'll arrange to send supplies back to you."
Xing Honglang waved it off with a smile. "There's no need to rush. It's nothing important."
Ma Xianglin hesitated, then asked, "Are these the settlement provisions granted by the imperial court?"
He had heard a few days earlier that the court had dispatched Censor Wu Shen with one hundred thousand taels of silver to pacify the bandits, supposedly to fund land reclamation, seeds, and draft cattle. One hundred thousand taels was no small figure, and it gave these pacified forces a certain heroic air.
Xing Honglang laughed and shook her head. "Settlement provisions? Wu Shen is so poor he's probably crying in Shi Kefa's arms back in Xi'an Prefecture."
Ma Xianglin fell silent.
"These supplies," Xing Honglang continued lightly, "were all earned by me. Back when I was smuggling salt."
Ma Xianglin laughed. "Is it too late for me to change professions and start smuggling salt as well?"
Zhang Fengyi shot him a sharp look. "Don't say such nonsense. If a civil official hears you, you'll be impeached before you know it, and that will only bring trouble."
Xing Honglang laughed heartily. "General Ma speaks his mind. I like that. Truly."
Ma Xianglin gave the order, and the White Pole Soldiers moved quickly. They first set up tarps to keep the rain off, then carefully carried away the sixty baskets of flour and ten baskets of luncheon meat assigned to them. When they lifted the oilcloth covering the bamboo baskets, exclamations immediately rang out.
"So white!"
"This is fine flour, top grade!"
"I've never eaten flour this good in my life."
"The flour we usually get is always yellowish."
The amazement in their voices was so genuine that it was almost embarrassing to hear.
One soldier pried open a basket of luncheon meat. Inside were dozens of neat, square wooden boxes. He opened one at random and found a perfectly cut block of meat inside, smooth and even on all sides.
The sound of people swallowing hard rippled through the group.
They had seen this square meat before. In Puzhou and Daning County, they had watched Xing Honglang's men distribute it to the common folk. They had stood to the side, breathing in the rich aroma, filled with envy and longing. But discipline held them back. Unlike corrupt imperial troops, they would never steal food meant for civilians.
All they could do was watch.
"Now it's finally our turn!" a White Pole Soldier shouted, holding up a box and laughing toward the sky. "Ten baskets of meat, twelve hundred catties in total. With three thousand of us, that's almost half a catty per man!"
"Let me check… almost two boxes each!"
Cheers erupted instantly.
"Meat!"
"So much meat!"
Under the shelter of the tarps, stoves were set up and fires lit. The Yellow River flowed nearby, its muddy water scooped up without complaint. The wooden boxes were tossed straight into the boiling pots, then fished out and used as bowls, practical to the extreme.
"It smells incredible."
"I'm starving just from the smell."
"It's been years since I've had meat like this."
"I never thought I'd eat meat while out on campaign."
As the soldiers laughed and ate, more than three thousand refugees who had followed the army from Daning County watched from afar. Their eyes shone with longing, but years of hardship had taught them caution. None dared to approach and beg. They did not even dare draw close enough to catch the scent.
Then Zheng Daniu came striding over, a heavy basket slung over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground with a solid thud and grinned broadly at them. "Three thousand refugees, your treatment is the same as the three thousand White Pole Soldiers. Sixty baskets of flour and ten baskets of luncheon meat. Organize yourselves and send people to the boats to collect it."
For a heartbeat, the refugees stood frozen in disbelief.
Then their voices rose together, trembling with joy. "Thank you, military lord!"