Starting from 1618 of the Ming Dynasty

Chapter 9: A Guide to a Chaotic World

The fifteenth day of the first month of the forty-sixth year of the Wanli reign (1597) was the Lantern Festival.

According to the old customs of the Ming Dynasty, today should be the Lantern Festival, a time of bright lanterns, throngs of ladies, and joyous celebrations throughout the city. But in this desolate wilderness of southern Shandong, locked away by the bitter cold, there are no lanterns, only a pale, paper-white full moon, hanging forlornly on the bare treetops, illuminating the desolate landscape.

On the official road leading to Jinan Prefecture, the north wind howled, whipping up the frozen earth and remaining snow, stinging the face like a knife.

A small convoy consisting of two double-wagons and three people was like a tenacious beetle, struggling to crawl along this long, gray snake formation.

"Stop the car. Rest here for 15 minutes."

Lu Yan's voice came from the second cart. He gripped the reins tightly, his gloves covered in frost. There was no shouting, and his voice was soft, but it carried an undeniable penetrating power in the wind.

He glanced at the sky; it was almost noon.

As he raised his right fist, Fan Fu, who was leading the way, immediately and reflexively pulled on the reins. The two wagons skillfully adjusted their angles, forming a pincer movement, and stopped on a sheltered, high spot by the roadside.

This is the "marching protocol" that Lu Yan has established over the past three days.

For Lu Yan, this was not a simple journey; it was a field operation. In this lawless wilderness, every moment of rest and every choice of campsite had to strictly adhere to safety regulations.

"Manager Fan, report on the losses."

Lu Yan jumped out of the car, stretching his frozen joints as he scanned the surrounding terrain—to the left was an open area, and to the right was a sparse grove of trees, a potential ambush point.

Fan Fu was no longer the pathetic son he had been when he was a concubine's son in the Fan family. He was wearing the thick sheepskin coat he had taken from the Fan family, with a large abacus at his waist and a small booklet with charcoal notes in his hand. His face was flushed from the wind.

"Reporting to the master." Fan Fu flipped through the booklet, speaking rapidly, behaving like a head steward. "Currently, 20% of the hay has been used up, and 15% of the soybean cake. The chestnut horse from yesterday has some wear on its left hind hoof. I just checked, and the shoe hasn't been damaged yet, but it's best to replace the saddle. Our men's dry rations can last for another twelve days. Also... Brother Changying's wound was dressed this morning. It looks a bit red, but it hasn't festered."

"Very good." Lu Yan nodded, took out a piece of dried meat as hard as a rock from his pocket, threw it into his mouth and chewed it vigorously. "Remember, on the road, data is life. Any abnormal consumption of supplies could be death knocking at the door. Especially water and horse feed, you must leave a three-day redundancy."

From the back of the carriage, Zhao Changying stepped out, carrying a gleaming woodcutter's knife in one hand.

After several days of recuperation, and thanks to his youthful good health, his complexion had become much rosier. Although his left arm was still in a thick sling, the fierce and murderous aura emanating from his very bones had become even more composed. In the past few days, Lu Yan had been teaching him how to assess the terrain, how to use wind direction for positioning, and how to judge whether there were people in the forest from bird calls—these were survival skills that Lu Yan had learned from mercenaries in war-torn areas in his previous life.

"Brother, there's a fork in the road about three miles ahead. It doesn't look safe." Zhao Changying squinted, his gaze sweeping across the wasteland into the distance. "The woods over there are too quiet, not even a crow in sight. There might be an ambush, or... refugees."

Lu Yan gave him an approving look: "Changying's sense of smell is getting better and better. Remember this in the future: anything abnormal is suspicious."

"Refugees?" Fan Fu shrank back, instinctively clutching the account book in his arms. "We have grain in our cart, and so much cloth left by the Fan family. What if we're targeted..."

"It's certain they're keeping an eye on us," Lu Yan said coldly, his eyes assessing the risks of a project. "That's why I spent a lot of money to buy these ten blank road permits and put a 'Ziyang County Government' flag on the roof of the car. By borrowing the power of the government, we can scare away most of the petty thieves who dare not mess with the authorities."

He patted the short blade that was never separated from his waist, and said in a calm tone: "As for those who are starving and not even afraid of the government... well, that depends on how fast Changying's blade is."

After resting, the convoy continued its journey.

The further north you go, the closer you get to Jinan, the provincial capital, the more bleak the roadside scenes become.

Although it hasn't reached the hellish scene of "exchanging children to eat" recorded in history books, we can already see many corpses lying dead by the roadside. Most of them are old people and children, wrapped in tattered reeds, their bodies frozen stiff, like gray road markers.

Wild dogs lingered around the carcass, unable to gnaw on the hard frozen ground, and could only lick the white frost on it.

Fan Fu didn't dare to look at it at first, but after vomiting a few times, he became numb to it.

As evening approached, darkness fell and the wind and snow began to fall again.

The caravan passed by a long-abandoned post station. Amidst the ruins, flickering lights could be faintly seen.

A group of ragged refugees huddled against a wall for shelter from the wind. Most of them were either fleeing from Liaodong or bankrupt farmers from Shandong who had suffered disasters. When they saw the large convoy, adorned with official flags and laden with goods, passing by, their previously lifeless eyes instantly lit up with a gleam of greed, like a pack of hungry wolves spotting fat sheep.

But seeing the gleaming woodcutter's knife in Zhao Changying's hand and Lu Yan's cold, almost murderous gaze, most people cowered and didn't dare to move.

There was only one emaciated woman, holding a dying child in her arms. She must have been starving, because she staggered out and knelt down in front of the cart without a care in the world.

"Sir...please have mercy...give me something to eat...the child hasn't eaten for three days..."

The woman's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping the ground. Her head slammed heavily against the frozen earth with a loud thud, instantly turning her forehead into a bloody mess, the blood flowing down her cheeks, a stark contrast against the snow.

The convoy stopped.

Fan Fu looked at the child who couldn't even cry out. The child was so thin that only a large head remained, with sunken eyes, as if he might die at any moment.

The last vestige of goodness in his heart was deeply touched. As a former illegitimate son, he had also experienced hunger and knew the feeling of stomach cramps. He subconsciously reached into his robes and pulled out half a piece of leftover dark flour bun from lunch.

"Master, just half a piece..." Fan Fu looked at Lu Yan, his eyes pleading, his voice trembling slightly, "This child is so pitiful. We have so much food on the cart, we won't miss this one bite. Give it to her, consider it an act of kindness."

He was just about to bend down to hand over the steamed bun.

"Snapped!"

A hand gripped his wrist tightly, like an iron clamp.

Lu Yan looked at him expressionlessly, his eyes colder than the surrounding ice and snow: "Take it back."

"Master?" Fan Fu was stunned, looking at Lu Yan in disbelief. "This...this is just a piece of bread...it's a life..."

"This isn't a steamed bun; it's poison, and it's our death warrant."

Lu Yan's voice was flat and emotionless, almost cruelly calm: "Look back."

Fan Fu subconsciously turned around.

This sight made his blood freeze instantly.

The moment he pulled out the steamed buns, all the refugees who had been cowering against the wall, seemingly on the verge of death, stood up.

Dozens of eyes were fixed on the half-eaten steamed bun in his hand. There was no gratitude, no sympathy in those eyes, only a primal, naked, beast-like greed.

Several young men were even quietly picking up stones and sticks from the ground, leaning forward, slowly approaching the convoy. Their suppressed breathing was clearly audible in the cold wind.

"You gave one, will the others give one too?"

Lu Yan's voice boomed in Fan Fu's ears like a thunderclap, "If we don't give it to them, they'll feel it's unfair and they'll start to steal it. If we do give it to them, will our few cartloads of grain be enough to go around? Once that starts, these people will be like sharks that have smelled blood, instantly swarming around us and tearing us to pieces, leaving not even a bone fragment."

"Fan Fu, remember this. In chaotic times, excessive kindness is suicide."

Fan Fu's hands were shaking so badly that the steamed bun fell onto the cart floor with a "thud" and rolled twice.

The refugees' eyes followed the steamed buns as they moved, and the young men had already taken a step forward.

Lu Yan released Fan Fu's hand, pulled the short blade from his waist, and slammed it into the carriage shaft. The blade penetrated deep into the wood, making a buzzing sound.

He slowly stood up, surveying the restless refugees around him from his elevated position. His gaze was like a knife, devoid of any pity, filled only with pure killing intent.

"roll."

There is only one word.

But behind that one word was Zhao Changying taking a step forward in perfect coordination.

"ha!"

With a loud shout, Zhao Changying swung his machete at a dead tree as thick as a thigh by the roadside.

"Snap!"

The dead tree snapped in two, the broken pieces jagged, and wood chips flew everywhere.

This chilling aura, forged in bloody battle, instantly subdued the ragtag group. They were refugees, not an army. Bullying the weak and fearing the strong was their instinct. Faced with such a clearly bloodthirsty and formidable force, their greed was suppressed by fear.

The green light in the refugees' eyes faded, replaced by fear once more. They slowly retreated, shrinking back into the shadows.

The woman looked at the convoy in despair, at the cold-hearted young man, and finally could only pick up her child, crying as she retreated.

"Let's go." Lu Yan drew his short blade and ordered the carriage to depart.

The wheels rolled on, leaving the cries and those desperate eyes behind.

Fan Fu sat in the car, his face pale and his whole body trembling. Only then did he truly understand how hard-hearted, or rather, how clear-headed, the "boss" he was working for was.

Two miles into the convoy, Lu Yan's voice drifted over on the wind.

"Don't think I'm cruel."

Lu Yan didn't turn around, still gazing at the vast snowfield ahead. "Fan Fu, this six hundred taels of silver and these five cartloads of goods are our means of survival, not for charity. Our current strength is too small to save the world; we can only save ourselves."

"When we have tens of thousands of taels of silver and several thousand soldiers, and are able to set rules and kill evildoers, then if you want to give alms, I will not stop you."

"But before that, we have to survive. Even if it means surviving over corpses."

Fan Fu remained silent for a long time before finally nodding vigorously. He picked up the half of the steamed bun that had fallen onto the cart, blew off the dust, and stuffed it back into his pocket, placing it close to his chest.

"Boss, I'll remember this. I won't do something so stupid again."

On the second day of the second month of the 46th year of the Wanli reign (1597), the dragon raised its head.

After enduring two weeks of wind and rain, this small convoy, weathered and menacing, finally came into view the towering city walls of Jinan.

Lu Yan reined in his horse and stood still, gazing at the bustling capital of Shandong Province.

The city gate was bustling with activity, with a constant stream of merchants and travelers. Although there were also refugees begging at the foot of the city wall, compared to the desolation on the road, this place seemed like another world.

"This is Jinan." Lu Yan squinted, looking at the Ming Dynasty dragon flag fluttering atop the city wall. "Our new battlefield."

He turned to look at the two men behind him. Zhao Changying was wiping the frost off the blade, while Fan Fu was checking the travel permits for crossing the border. His eyes showed less timidity and more shrewdness.

This makeshift team of only three people finally became decent after experiencing life-and-death trials on the road.

"Go into town."

Lu Yan cracked his whip, "Let's go take the imperial examination and come back with official rank, so we can get rid of this indelible mud-roots air and replace it with official authority."

After settling down in the city, the first thing Lu Yan did was write a letter to Zhao Tie in Ziyang.

Zhao Tie had only one daughter, Lian'er, who married into Dezhou Prefecture in her early years. Later, her husband took a military post and was transferred to the Qiantunwei Garrison in Liaodong, and Lian'er went with her family. After that, they gradually lost contact, and although the old man didn't say it, he always thought about her.

The letter was short: Uncle Tie, I've established myself in Jinan. Close the blacksmith shop and come find me in the provincial capital. Also, haven't you been thinking about Lian'er? I have some business connections in Liaodong; I can try to find out some information for you.