Chapter Thirteen: In Times of Chaos, There Is No Righteousness

Wuping County was even smaller and poorer than Qichun. Some houses that appeared decent at first glance were overrun with wild grass, for the great families had all fled, and the county office had been seized by Liao Hua’s band of rebels. This place had become a land without master, its order tenuously maintained only by the scattered presence of these marauders.

At this moment, many counties across the land resembled Wuping: estates lay desolate, outlaws roamed unchecked, law and order had vanished, and bandits ran rampant. Expecting a gang of thieves to govern a county was folly. A county, after all, housed several thousand families—tens of thousands of souls. Civil affairs, military security, and production were all intertwined, and without an efficient organization—be it a powerful local government or a dominant family clan—control was impossible.

Where there was a leading family, there would be estates with fertile fields, rice and hemp cultivation, silkworm breeding, even workshops producing silk and household goods—a self-sustaining industrial chain that provided not only for the people's needs but also employment. This, at its root, was what allowed a county or a township to function.

Alternatively, a strong local government wielded military power, which conferred efficient organization. With swords and spears at their disposal, they could compel labor and thus maintain production even without the support of great families, ensuring stability.

Of course, the ideal was when government and local clans cooperated—each with its own place, as in Jiangxia, where the gentry took precedence and officials followed; or Wu County, the same. But in Changsha, under Sun Jian, the government was dominant, and the clans subordinate.

But Wuping now had neither magistrate nor gentry. To expect a band of idlers and roughnecks to encourage agriculture and industry was pure fantasy. Managing the livelihoods of a county, overseeing production without knowledge of the seasons, or suppressing crime without understanding the law—all of this was impossible. The people of Wuping County lived at the whim of the heavens, each caring only for his own doorstep, each plowing his own field.

When Cao Hong led his men into Wuping, all he saw were pale-faced townsfolk with vacant eyes. As they walked to the county office, they found two men in coarse hempen clothes standing guard. On seeing Liao Hua, the men called out, “Heavenly King!” but eyed Cao Hong’s party with uncertainty.

Liao Hua waved them off. “I am no longer the Heavenly King! I am now the stable boy leading Young Master Cao’s horse. Go gather our valuables and divide them—half to disband the brothers, half to be taken by Young Master Cao.”

The two guards, always in awe of Liao Hua’s martial prowess, obeyed at once and slipped inside. Since Liao Hua had led some of his men to intercept Cao Hong and failed, the group had scattered, leaving only a few dozen followers in Wuping. Once the situation was explained, they collected the valuables and a dozen or so women in the courtyard before the county office and departed without a word.

“These are the spoils taken since I captured Wuping,” Liao Hua reported. “Mostly fine silks, coins, exquisite ceramics. And these eighteen women are the wives and daughters of the great families who fled, the young and beautiful among them. The older ones I have already dismissed.”

Cao Hong glanced at the women. Each one was clothed in tatters, hair disheveled, faces ashen, eyes lifeless. It was no surprise: eighteen young women, held captive for years by over a hundred men, their spirits must have been utterly broken. Even if released, they had no means to survive—reduced to objects for others’ pleasure.

In such chaotic times, notions of benevolence and morality were meaningless. Cao Hong did not despise Liao Hua for this; any leader might have acted the same. It was, after all, a way to maintain authority. He called out, “Ermazi!”

Ermazi, who had been waiting to one side, hurried to his side. “Young Master!”

“Find some carts, buy a few mules or cattle, load up these valuables and women, and take them as household entertainers,” Cao Hong commanded coolly.

In these days, brothels did not yet exist. Great families kept their own entertainers for amusement, and when going to war, they took camp followers for company. Cao Hong, recalling this from memory, meant to use the women as camp followers, but since the family had not yet raised an army, he called them household entertainers instead.

Ermazi was delighted, quickly agreed, and began organizing the men. He knew the young master would have no interest in such withered flowers—it would be a boon for himself and Dayan.

Suddenly, Cao Hong turned to Liao Hua. “Yuanjian, how old are you this year?”

Liao Hua replied, “Seventeen, young master. I will be eighteen after the new year.”

Seventeen—and he already regarded the abuse of women as a matter of course. The end of the Han was indeed a cruel era. As Cao Hong looked into Liao Hua’s calm eyes, he sighed inwardly. He was a mercenary, accustomed to killing without a second thought, but he had grown up in an age that protected and respected women. This was still hard to accept. Instinctively, he glanced back at Sheng Meizhen’s carriage. The curtains were drawn tight, and all was quiet, which eased his heart somewhat.

The silks and ceramics Liao Hua had saved filled two carts; the coins amounted to more than thirty thousand, equivalent to half a year’s salary at four hundred shi. If used to buy rice, it could purchase three hundred shi—about five and a half thousand kilograms—a considerable sum. But with production in Wuping at a standstill, money was useless; rice meant survival, while coins were but worthless metal. In fact, as the self-styled king of Wuping, Liao Hua had no use for money when buying grain.

Once the valuables and women were loaded, Cao Hong ordered his retainers to set out again. Before night had fallen, they reached Yan County on the border of Liang. The county magistrate, recognizing Cao Ren’s banner, opened the gates and let them in. Cao Hong had his men rent a gentleman’s villa, where they rested. That night, Dayan, Ermazi, and several retainers went to find the women they had acquired during the day.

Liao Hua, restraining his own men, withdrew to a small adjoining room near Cao Hong’s quarters and quietly settled down, acting every bit the loyal servant.

Inside, under the gentle glow of a long-burning lamp, Cao Hong and Sheng Meizhen conversed.

“My lord,” Sheng Meizhen said, seated on the couch in her nightgown, her long hair cascading down in lazy allure, “though Liao Yuanjian is a remnant of the Yellow Turbans, the way he knelt and apologized to his men before submitting to you shows he is a man of loyalty and affection. His skills are formidable—he would be a great help to you.”

Cao Hong, sipping tea at his desk, smiled. “He is indeed remarkable. Taught by a renowned master in his youth, his foundation is solid. He’s been on the battlefield, ruthless when needed, and generally comes out ahead in fights with those of similar skill.”

Sheng Meizhen laughed, “Will you not teach him a move or two yourself?”

Cao Hong laughed heartily. “Let’s observe him a bit longer!” He did indeed possess a wealth of martial knowledge, but whether or not to impart it depended on his mood.

Suddenly Sheng Meizhen asked, “Husband, did you also meet a great master in your youth? What you know goes far beyond the ‘Thirteen Forms of Wen Yi’ of the Cao family.”

Cao Hong laughed but replied, “Why not make a guess, Meizhen?”

She shot him a look, feigning annoyance. “I won’t guess! I’m going to bed.” With that, she stretched languidly, her figure outlined beneath her thin garment, and smiled, “Will you not join me?”

Cao Hong laughed aloud and leapt onto the bed beside her.