Han Ji

Chapter 171 The Galloping Golden Bull

Chapter 171 The Galloping Golden Bull

"Open the city gates and let them go," Ma Xiang repeated. "Those who want to leave, let them go."

The captain of the personal guards paused for a moment, then clasped his hands in a fist salute: "Yes."

He left, his footsteps disappearing at the end of the corridor.

Ma Xiang sat alone on the edge of the bed, looking at the silk book on the ground.

The candle flame flickered and burst into a tiny flame.

It was very loud.

As dawn approached, the rain began to fall.

The rain was light, a gentle drizzle, pattering on the palace tiles like countless tiny claws scratching. Ma Xiang didn't sleep anymore; he put on his robe and sat by the window, watching the raindrops drift obliquely in the darkness.

There was another knock on the door.

The one who came in this time was a spy, soaking wet, kneeling on the ground and trembling.

"Your Majesty... A scout reports... There are troops on Golden Ox Road."

Ma Xiang turned around: "How many people?"

"I can't see clearly, it's raining heavily. But the flag has been raised." The scout looked up, his face a mixture of rain and cold sweat. "It's the character 'Liu'."

Liu.

Liu Bei.

coming.

Ma Xiang stood up, walked to the weapon rack, and drew the ring-pommel sword. The sword was a gift from Liu Yong; its blade was gleaming, and reflected the candlelight, it looked chillingly sharp.

He gripped the knife handle tightly until his knuckles turned white.

"Give the order," he said, his voice hoarse. "The entire army will assemble. Wang Rao, Wu Si, and all generals, meet in the Dacheng Hall in one hour."

"yes!"

The scout scrambled to his feet and staggered out.

Ma Xiang, holding a knife, walked to the palace entrance and pushed it open.

The rain lashed at his face, feeling icy cold.

In the distance, the outline of Chengdu was blurred in the morning mist. The streets and alleys were quiet, save for the sound of rain. But he knew that beneath the silence, something was festering, something was collapsing.

He raised his knife, the tip pointing to the sky.

Rainwater flowed down the blade and onto his wrist.

"Liu Bei," he murmured, "come here."

"Let's fight."

"If we win, I'll sit tight. If we lose..."

""

He paused, then grinned.

"Anyway, I'm tired of being emperor."

The rain is getting heavier.

The sky began to lighten with the first hint of dawn, but was quickly swallowed up by dark clouds.

Chengdu is still asleep.

But Ma Xiang knew this was the last morning he could sleep in.

On the seventh day of the third month of the fifth year of Zhongping, at Jinniu Road.

Before dawn, the mountain fog was so thick it wouldn't dissipate, like milky white porridge, sticking to our faces and filling our lungs with a damp, cold mist. The group snaked along the plank road like a long serpent. The wooden planks creaked underfoot; some were rotten and soft to the touch. Through the cracks, we could see the surging river below, dark and heavy, its roar muffled in the canyon.

Liu Bei walked at the very front.

He wore a worn leather armor over a dark brown cloak, the hood pulled back, his hair damp with mist and plastered to his forehead. He leaned on a wooden cane, probing the path with each step.

Qian Zhao turned back from the front, her face covered in water droplets.

"Brother, the plank road ahead is broken by three zhang (approximately 10 meters).

Liu Bei stopped: "A complete break?"

"The middle is hollow, but the two rafters are still connected; it can be repaired."

"Are there any soldiers in the army who know how to repair plank roads?"

"Yes. Two years ago, when we were suppressing bandits in Micang Mountain, we recruited more than a dozen old carpenters, all of whom knew how to do this."

Liu Bei nodded: "Summon them. You take your personal guards and help them. Tell them to make sure the fortifications are sturdy, but also to be quick."

"Yes."

The carpenters were quickly brought up. They were all old soldiers in their forties or fifties, with dark faces and rough hands, carrying wicker baskets containing axes, saws, and other implements.

Chisels and ropes. The leader was an old man with only one arm, surnamed Lu. His left sleeve was empty, but his right hand was unusually strong.

Old Man Lu walked to the broken edge, leaned over to look, and then stepped on the remaining rafters.

"General," he turned around, his voice hoarse, "it can be repaired. Give me two hours and twenty men."

Liu Bei untied a water pouch from his waist and handed it over: "What materials do you need?"

"There are pine trees on the cliff, the thicker the better. We need hemp rope and iron nails." Old Man Lu took the water bag, didn't drink from it, and handed it to a young carpenter behind him. "We'll get started right away."

The carpenters dispersed. Some chopped trees, some peeled bark, and some measured distances. Their movements were swift and silent, the only sounds being the clanging of tools against the wood.

Liu Bei didn't go far; he just stood aside and watched.

Old Man Lu, with one arm, wielded the axe, each strike steady, accurate, and ruthless. The pine tree quickly fell, and the crowd dragged it to the broken edge. They measured the dimensions, removed branches, and chiseled mortise and tenon joints. The young carpenter, with a hemp rope around his waist, suspended himself below the broken edge, placed the new beam on top, nailed it in place, and then reinforced it with more hemp rope.

In less than two hours, a new section of the plank road was completed. Once the planks were laid, Old Man Lu was the first to step onto them, stomping on them and jumping around.

"It's done, General."

Liu Bei walked over and stepped onto the wooden plank. It was sturdy and stable. He turned to Old Man Lu and said, "Excellent craftsmanship. I'll remember your contribution."

Old Man Lu grinned, revealing his yellow teeth: "Thank you, General. We know this road well."

The procession continued onward.

On the third day, at Jiameng Pass.

The fortress is located halfway up the mountain, its stone walls weathered and withered grass growing on the crenellations. The gate is tightly shut.

The scouts who had been summoned arrived first and called out from below the pass. After a while, the gate creaked open a crack, and an old soldier poked his head out, his face wrinkled like a walnut.

"Which general?"

"General Liu, Commander-in-Chief of Pingnan".

The old soldier's cloudy eyes darted around, and after a moment's hesitation, he opened the door.

As soon as the door was opened, the scene was revealed.

Inside the fortified city, along the streets, under the eaves, and at the base of walls, a dark mass of people huddled together. There were old and young, most dressed in tattered clothes, their faces so dirty they were unrecognizable. Upon seeing the army enter, they shrank back, their eyes numb yet tinged with fear.

A middle-aged man in tattered official robes ran over and bowed: "This humble official, the magistrate of Jiameng Pass, pays his respects to General Liu."

Liu Bei dismounted: "What's going on with these people?"

The gatekeeper smiled bitterly: "They're all refugees from the south. Mianzhu and Fuxian are in chaos; the people of Ma Xiang are conscripting men and robbing grain everywhere. Unable to survive, they've fled to the mountains. In the past few days, over seven hundred have gathered. The grain reserves in the gate are almost gone, and I'm really worried..."

""

Liu Bei walked over.

In the crowd, a woman was holding a three- or four-year-old child. The child was so thin that he was skin and bones, his head was drooping, and his eyes were half-closed.

When the woman saw Liu Bei, she instinctively hid the child in her arms.

Liu Bei squatted down.

The woman shuddered.

"Have you not eaten for several days?" Liu Bei asked.

The woman's lips moved, but she didn't make a sound.

Liu Bei turned around: "Zijing."

He beckoned her forward.

"Drive our grain trucks. Cook porridge, let the children eat first."

"Yes."

Half an hour later, more than a dozen large pots were set up inside the fortified city. Millet was poured in, water was added, and fire licked the bottom of the pots, causing steam to rise. The aroma of rice mingled with the humid air and wafted through the air.

The crowd stirred.

The children stared longingly at the pot, swallowing hard.

The porridge was ready, thick and creamy. The soldiers ladled it out in wooden bowls and handed it out one by one. The first person to receive the porridge was the child in the woman's arms. The woman's hands trembled as she scooped up a spoonful, blew on it to cool it, and fed it to the child.

The child opened their mouth and swallowed. Their eyes slowly widened a little.

The woman cried silently, tears streaming down her face.

Liu Bei stood by the pot, watching.

"Young and strong," he said. "Those who wish to join the army, step forward."

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

A boy of about seventeen or eighteen stood up; he was tall and thin, with a fresh scar on his face. Then came the second, the third... Most were around twenty years old, some were in their thirties. Finally, about a hundred people stood up.

Qian Zhao brought over the roster, asked each person for their name and place of origin, and wrote them down.

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