Chapter Ten King Liao? Who does he think he is?

Cao Hong possessed little wealth in Qichun, and naturally, his collection of horses was equally modest. Aside from four used for pulling carts, he had only three mounts for himself, allowing for an occasional change. The flat wagon carrying valuables was drawn by a mule purchased from the county market by his steward, Cao Fu.

Of Cao Hong’s three steeds, one he rode himself. The other two were reserved for the leaders of his three hundred retainers: one called Big Eyes, the other nicknamed Scarface. Both hailed from Wu Commandery, notorious as local ruffians—fierce fighters, serving as his most formidable lieutenants. Yet, in Cao Hong’s eyes, these men in their early twenties were little more than brutes; their skills amounted to nothing beyond the raw courage and experience gained in street brawls, having not even achieved the martial discipline of refining essence into energy. Still, compared to the rest of his retainers, these two could be counted as competent.

Since the beginning of the Yellow Turban turmoil five years prior, the reigning Emperor Ling, desperate to quell rebellion, granted sweeping powers to local officials, allowing governors and inspectors to recruit soldiers and build armies. To strengthen their positions, local authorities encouraged prominent families to maintain private troops, even opening private armories to forge weapons. Though the main force of the Yellow Turbans had been crushed, remnants lingered, and these officers and families naturally retained their armed power.

The rise of private armed factions in the provinces marks the beginning of a country’s or dynasty’s decline. With military strength comes defiance, and the law regarding taxes and corvée is often ignored. Take Qichun, where Cao Hong served: the county’s taxes should be sent to the Grand Administrator of Jiangxia. But if that administrator commands his own troops, he can simply report to the imperial court that the region is plagued by bandits, and taxes must be used to maintain his private army, thus withholding funds from the central government—either for personal gain or to further build his power, all at his own discretion.

Similarly, if a local family wields considerable military might, they can easily refuse the official’s tax collection, arguing that times are hard, harvests poor, and their soldiers must be fed to ensure survival. “Where is the money to be had? I’m not even robbing others—be grateful for that!” The most immediate consequence is an empty treasury for the court, while local powers grow unchecked. If officials lack strength, they might be dominated by powerful families, as in Peiguo, where Cao Ren is the true master, and all twenty-one counties heed his command.

Should both officials and families be weak, then the bandits rejoice, ruling as kings in their territories—such as the infamous Zhang Feiyan in Hebei, or Song Jian in Longxi, who are both heads of rogue factions.

Once local powers grow, their first act is to secure their domain. Taxes are a must; merchant caravans passing through must pay a toll—first, as a reminder of who rules here, and second, as a means of extra income. Cao Hong’s caravan, disguised as merchants, numbering over three hundred, journeyed from Qichun to Peiguo, crossing from Jingzhou to Yuzhou, passing through Jiangxia, then traversing Runan, Chen, and Liang before reaching Peiguo.

Both states and commanderies contain numerous counties. Commandery taxes go to the administrator; state taxes to the local prince. Yet, with chaos and warfare rampant, and the court wary of princes amassing armies, it is decreed that princes must reside in the capital, leaving only a minister to govern their estates and collect taxes. In these times, officers and families everywhere jealously guard their power, rarely submitting funds as required. Compared to commanderies, states are even more chaotic; in a commandery, a single administrator or a coalition of families may manage affairs, requiring only one toll per crossing. In a state, with multiple factions, each territory might demand a toll—sometimes by county, sometimes even within a county.

In Jiangxia, the administrator hails from a prominent local family, which shares ties with Cao Hong’s clan—hence Cao Hong’s appointment. His caravan traveled under the banner of Wu Commandery merchants, so their journey was peaceful.

Upon entering Runan, the situation was tolerable; this was the domain of the illustrious Yuan family, known for four generations of high officials—Yuan Shao and Yuan Shu. Local families and officials all deferred to them, maintaining order across thirty-seven counties, and only one toll was collected.

But once they entered Chen, Cao Hong’s mood soured. Traveling the official road, they passed through three counties, each time paying a toll, which only grew steeper. Yet, with women and children in the caravan, and urgency pressing them onward, plus the fact that county controllers were local magnates not to be provoked, Cao Hong chose to pay for peace. At last, they reached the border of Chen, entering Wuping County; beyond lay Liang, which bordered Peiguo. In Liang, Cao Ren’s reputation ensured fewer troubles.

Cao Hong, carrying the sheathed Han sword known as “Lian,” rode at the front. Big Eyes and Scarface flanked him. They had purchased food and water in villages and towns along the way, traveling light and swiftly; their journey from Qichun through Runan to Chen took only fifteen days.

A day prior, they had restocked provisions in a village, aiming to push through Wuping and enter Liang. It was now midday; though autumn had arrived, the sun was fierce, draining the spirits of the three hundred retainers.

“Master, there’s another checkpoint ahead,” Scarface said, pointing with a long spear—the very weapon from Cao Hong’s training hall. Apart from his Han sword and a few ring-hilted knives, all other arms had been distributed among his men.

Cao Hong had already spotted the checkpoint: a row of sharpened logs forming a barrier about a meter high, meant to halt horses and travelers. Before it stood more than ten burly men in coarse linen, wielding halberds. One glance revealed they were not government soldiers; they wore no armor. Clearly, Wuping was either under the control of a powerful local clan, or else bandits.

As Cao Hong’s party approached, the leader barked, “Halt! What business?”

Big Eyes stepped forward and replied, “Brother, we’re merchants bound for Peiguo. Please let us pass.”

The burly man toyed with his halberd, eyeing the three hundred strong retainers, some armed with fine weapons from Cao Hong’s training hall. His gaze flickered as he said, “Oh, travelers? Lord Liao, master of Wuping, has decreed: no weapons may pass through the county. We don’t want your money—just lay down your arms.”

Cao Hong’s brow furrowed instantly. In these times, horses and weapons were prized possessions. His training hall’s weapons were crafted by skilled artisans; each polearm was made of fine wood, soaked in pig fat, fitted with steel blades. Selling two would cover a month’s salary as county magistrate; he possessed dozens—quite a fortune. Moreover, he carried the treasured sword gifted by Xu Deng. Surrendering them was unthinkable.

Big Eyes’ tone grew cold. “Brother, isn’t that asking too much?”

The burly man snapped, “Enough talk! If you won’t lay them down, you won’t pass. Old Wu, fetch Lord Liao and his men. We’ll wait here.”

With a shout, one of the men behind the barrier departed. The remaining ten stood ready, halberds drawn, watching Cao Hong’s party.

Cao Hong rode forward slowly, sizing up the thirteen men: none showed signs of martial refinement, not even the first stage of essence cultivation. He mused, “Do they take me for a sick cat, just because the tiger’s quiet?”

He had paid tolls all along, swallowing his anger at these rough men; but as a newcomer, he had refrained from trouble. The uniform garb suggested affiliation with a local clan, discouraging confrontation. Yet these men wore coarse linen, their faces sallow—clearly long malnourished. Wuping was a desolate place, likely occupied by Yellow Turban remnants or rabble, coveting his weapons to bolster their strength. Their hold on the territory was tenuous. All these factors kindled in Cao Hong a desire to act.

He chuckled softly, lounging in the saddle, and asked, “Playing king here? Lord Liao? Who’s he supposed to be?”