bullyxtreme Chapter 1 The Chaotic Era of the Three Kingdoms
Chapter 1 The Chaotic Era of the Three Kingdoms
Spring, the second year of Chuping.
In the early morning in Pingyuan County, the fog had not yet dissipated.
Li Zhao stood at the entrance of the county temple, watching the scattered figures on the long street.
The shops along the street were already busy. A shop assistant spotted a homeless person huddled in the corner, spat, and shook his head.
"The Ming Dynasty."
A deep, resonant voice came from behind me.
Li Zhao turned around and saw a tall, slender young man standing with his hand on his sword.
This man had a handsome face and sharp eyebrows. He wore a gray-white outfit that, while not luxurious, was neat and tidy.
Zhao Yun, courtesy name Zilong, was a native of Zhen Ding, Changshan.
Interestingly, the two are from the same hometown.
The original owner of this body was also named Li Zhao. He was from Changshan Zhen Ding and lived in the south of the city, three streets away from the Zhao family.
He was poor when he was young, and his parents died early. He received assistance from his clan and was able to attend school for a few years.
Later, as the world descended into chaos, Li Zhao joined Gongsun Zan's service as a clerk. Because of his reliable work, he was recommended to be the magistrate of Pingyuan County.
Zhao Yun was two years younger than him and was known in the village for his bravery from a young age.
In the first year of the Chuping era, Zhao Yun led his local militia to join Gongsun Zan, where he met Li Zhao in front of his tent.
Later, Zhao Yun asked Gongsun Zan for permission to accompany Li Zhao to Pingyuan.
According to Zhao Yun, "We are from the same hometown and know each other well. I feel at ease going with Brother Li."
He stood behind Li Zhao, his gaze sweeping across the long street, a look of worry on his face.
"This morning, another hundred or so people arrived from the south of the city. They spoke with an accent from Qingzhou, saying that Yuan Shao's troops had looted the grain and burned down all the villages."
Li Zhao didn't speak, but led Zhao Yun into the main hall and handed him a scroll of bamboo slips.
"Last month, the registered population was 7,423. This month..." Li Zhao paused, his voice lowering, "...and with the refugees included, it has exceeded 10,000."
Zhao Yun took the bamboo slip and glanced at it, his pupils shrinking slightly.
"Over 11,000 people?"
"The number is not limited to this; many refugees are hiding from officials, making it impossible to investigate them."
Li Zhao stood up and walked to the window.
"When Dong Zhuo moved the capital to Chang'an, the warlords in Guandong had their own agendas, and the remnants of the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke out in Ji Province. The people had nowhere to go and could only flee eastward. Pingyuan County, located between Qing and Ji, became their last resort."
Zhao Yun paused for a moment, then asked, "Has General Gongsun sent any news about allocating supplies?"
Li Zhao shook his head and gave a bitter smile.
Gongsun Zan is currently busy fighting Yuan Shao for control of Ji Province, so how could he possibly care about a small county like Pingyuan?
The allocated military rations were only enough for the garrison, not a single grain more.
As for the local treasury, it was completely looted by the previous magistrate, leaving less than 500 shi of grain, not even enough to sustain the people of the county for two months.
"Zilong," Li Zhao suddenly spoke, "accompany me to the south of the city."
Li Zhao changed into an old robe and did not bring any ceremonial regalia.
Zhao Yun, with a sword at his waist, followed half a step to his left.
The two left the back gate of the county temple and walked south along the alley.
The South Gate Street intersection was originally the busiest area in Pingyuan County, where merchants gathered and vehicles and horses came and went.
Now, seven out of ten shops on both sides are closed, and the remaining three have only half-open doors. The shop owners are huddled behind their counters, watching the street with wary eyes.
The streets were full of homeless people.
They sat in groups of three or five against the wall, their clothes tattered and their faces ashen.
Li Zhao slowed his pace.
He had read many history books in modern times, and he had written the ten characters "white bones exposed in the wild, and not a rooster crows for a thousand miles" in exams and cited them in papers.
Now these ten words are laid out before him, yet he cannot calm down no matter what.
An old woman sat against the wall, holding a child in her arms.
The child is not crying; his eyes are half-open, his lips are chapped, and his belly is bloated.
He squatted down.
The old woman looked up, recognized his official robes, shrank back, and instinctively hid the child in her arms.
"Don't be afraid," Li Zhao said softly. "Where did you come from?"
The old woman's lips moved a few times, her voice hoarse.
"Jinan Kingdom".
Jinan State was located in the heart of Qingzhou, at least three hundred li away from Pingyuan County.
An elderly person with a child, traveling 300 li (approximately 150 kilometers), it's hard to imagine how they managed to get here.
Li Zhao didn't ask any more questions.
He stood up and looked across the entire street.
People were everywhere—at the base of walls, under eaves, and in alleyways.
Zhao Yun stood behind him, his right hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his sword.
He had fought in wars and seen dead people.
But death on the battlefield is a bloody affair, not a slow, agonizing death from starvation or freezing.
Li Zhao suddenly spoke up.
"Zilong, take a few men and set up a soup kitchen on this street today."
Zhao Yun was taken aback.
"A soup kitchen?"
"Yes. Set up three large pots first, and start serving porridge at noon today."
Zhao Yun turned around and lowered his voice:
"Mingting, you know the treasury accounts better than I do. Five hundred shi of grain are barely enough to feed the more than seven thousand people in the county. If you were to use that money to distribute porridge..."
"Should we borrow grain from those wealthy households in the county first?"
"We can't borrow it." Li Zhao shook his head. "The local powerful families would love for all the refugees to die outside the city. The fewer mouths there are, the less of a threat there will be. If we go to them to borrow grain, they will just make excuses and then turn around and raise the price of grain by another 30%."
These words were so blunt that Zhao Yun had no way to refute them.
He had been with Li Zhao in Pingyuan County for more than half a year, and he knew the true character of the local bigwigs very well.
The Zhang family in the east of the city and the Zhou family in the north of the city, which one of them doesn't have grain stored in their granaries while claiming to be poor?
"But..." Zhao Yun frowned, "Where will the grain come from?"
Li Zhao looked at him but did not answer immediately.
A moment later, he said something that Zhao Yun didn't quite understand.
"With more people, there will naturally be more food."
Zhao Yun opened his mouth, but couldn't reply.
Li Zhao patted him on the shoulder: "Go and get on with it. You'll manage the cooking pots, firewood, and manpower. I'll take care of the grain. It will be delivered before noon."
Zhao Yun stared into Li Zhao's eyes.
He and Li Zhao have known each other for more than a year or two.
Even as a young man on the streets of Zhengding, he was not one to speak without purpose.
If we say we can do it, then we can do it.
"promise."
Zhao Yun turned and strode away, his figure quickly disappearing at the alley entrance.
Li Zhao turned into a narrow alley and returned to his residence through the back door.
It was said to be the county magistrate's residence, but it was actually just three old houses behind the county temple.
The former magistrate took all the valuables away, even prying off the copper nails on the door, leaving nail holes all over the ground.
Li Zhao closed the courtyard gate and walked to the innermost room.
He usually keeps this room locked, saying it's for storing documents and files.
The windows were covered tightly with thick cloth, and the door latch was down, so no one could see inside.
He stood in the center of the room and took a deep breath.
In my mind, a semi-transparent panel appeared.
[Li Zhao, Magistrate of Pingyuan]
[Registered population within the jurisdiction (including migrants): 11247]
Daily rice production: 11247 liters
Current grain reserves: 41203 shi (a unit of dry measure).
This is his magic touch.
Every living person within his jurisdiction was given one liter of grain per day.
The grain is stored in the system space and can be used at any time without spoiling.
Forty-one thousand two hundred and three shi (a unit of dry measure).
Li Zhao stared at the number and exhaled a breath of stale air.
Two years.
At the beginning, Pingyuan County had only about 4,000 registered residents, and the daily output was more than 4,000 liters, which amounted to less than 50 shi.
Previously, when Dong Zhuo was powerful, it was bound to arouse suspicion that a poor county magistrate with an annual salary of several hundred bushels of grain would suddenly take out several thousand bushels of grain to help the people.
But things are different now.
Gongsun Zan was busy dealing with Yuan Shao, but he had Zhao Yun by his side to help him.
In the short term, the only ones to deal with are the local gentry and powerful families.
Li Zhao stretched out his hand, and with a thought, a burlap sack appeared out of thin air at his feet.
He bent down and untied it, and the millet spilled out.
He retied the bag and took out nine more bags.
Then he walked to the desk, picked up a blank bamboo scroll, and wrote down an account.
This false accounting may not be able to hide the truth forever, but it's enough for the current juncture.
By the time someone wanted to investigate, these grains had already become a symbol of public sentiment.
"Go to the back street and call two oxcarts to come in through the back door."
Sun Fu agreed without asking any further questions and limped out of the yard.
The driver was Sun Fu's nephew, a dark-skinned man who worked as a porter in the city.
"Send it to the South Gate intersection and hand it over to Zhao Zilong. Just say it's grain stored in the county temple, nothing else is needed."
The dark-faced man nodded, loaded ten bags of millet onto the truck, and drove off.
Li Zhao took the scroll of bamboo slips to the county temple's registrar for filing, and then sat down under the eaves.
These ten bushels of rice were a drop in the ocean for him, but for those refugees, they were a hope for survival.
In the chaotic Three Kingdoms period, he also needed to build up his own faction and leave himself a way out.