RPAGF Chapter 2: Prosperity is associated with suffering; ruin is associated with suffering.
Chapter 2: Prosperity is associated with suffering; ruin is associated with suffering.
South Gate Street Intersection.
Zhao Yun moved very quickly.
Two iron pots were already set up, the firewood was crackling and popping, and several county soldiers were squatting by the stove adding firewood.
The stove and pot are ready, and the water is boiling.
There was no rice.
Zhao Yun stood by the pot, his expression unchanged, but his gaze kept sweeping towards the alley entrance.
As the sun rose higher and noon approached, more and more homeless people gathered on the streets.
Some people smelled the firewood and stared at the empty pot.
A gaunt man squeezed to the front, his voice hoarse:
"Sir, are you going to serve porridge?"
Zhao Yun did not answer.
As the oxcart turned the corner, the cart was half full of bulging sacks.
The dark-faced coachman reined in his horse: "Chief Zhao, ten shi of grain stored in the county treasury."
Zhao Yun strode over and untied a burlap sack.
Millet poured out of the bag, and he reached out and rubbed it between his fingers.
The quality of this rice is far superior to the rations issued to Gongsun Zan's army.
He paused for a moment.
Then he tied the bag shut, hoisted the sack onto his shoulder, and waved to the county soldiers behind him.
"Rinse the rice and put it in the pot."
……
By late afternoon, the porridge stall had run out of ten bushels of rice.
Zhao Yun watched the dispersing crowd, remained silent for a moment, then turned and walked towards the county temple.
In the main hall, several bamboo scrolls were laid out in front of Li Zhao, his ink brush moving constantly in his hand.
Zhao Yun pushed open the door and sat down directly opposite Li Zhao.
"The porridge is ready."
"Um."
"More than 1,300 people," Zhao Yun said. "Most of them are old and weak, and less than 30% are young and strong. Some of them were so hungry that they vomited after drinking the porridge, but then they drank it again."
Li Zhao put down his pen and looked up at him.
Zhao Yun stared into his eyes and asked the question he had been holding back all day.
"Where did those ten bushels of rice come from?"
Li Zhao's expression remained unchanged: "Bought."
"Where can I buy it?"
"It was a grain merchant from Bohai County. The price was negotiated last autumn during the harvest season. The money was my own salary, which I had saved for more than half a year."
Zhao Yun did not respond.
Last year, the surrounding areas of Pingyuan County had a poor harvest, and Bohai County was not much better off. This quality of millet is not something that small grain merchants can provide.
Moreover, how much is a county magistrate's annual salary?
Of the 400 shi of salary, how much would be left after converting it into money and silk and deducting daily expenses?
Ten bushels of good rice are worth at least ten thousand coins.
But Zhao Yun did not press the matter further.
He was a martial artist, not a lawyer.
Li Zhao had his reasons for not wanting to talk about it.
The most important thing right now is that this batch of grain has truly saved lives.
"Will you continue to distribute porridge tomorrow?" Zhao Yun asked.
"Yes," Li Zhao answered readily, "Three pots a day, without fail."
Zhao Yun silently rose, clasped his hands in a salute, and turned to leave.
"Brother Li," he said without turning around, "regardless of where that rice came from, I saw the looks in the eyes of those people on South Gate Street today."
The curtain fell, and the footsteps faded into the distance.
Li Zhao leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a while.
The news will spread after the porridge distribution today.
The number of migrants flooding into Pingyuan County tomorrow will only increase, not decrease.
The more people there are, the more food there is, and the more things can be done.
Li Zhao had calculated this very clearly.
……
into the night.
In the back hall of the county temple, an oil lamp sat on a table, its flame flickering in the wind.
Li Zhao asked Sun Fu to go to the street and buy half a jin of cloudy wine and two dishes of pickled vegetables.
When Zhao Yun arrived, the wine was already warmed.
The two sat facing each other, each drinking a cup of wine.
Zhao Yun put down his wine cup and spoke first.
"Brother Li, the rations distributed today can save ten or a hundred lives. But what about tomorrow? The day after?"
His voice was not loud, but every word was clear.
"With the refugees outside the city and those still arriving, how long can we sustain this effort?"
Instead of answering directly, Li Zhao asked:
"Zilong, in your opinion, where does the root of this chaos lie? Is it Dong Zhuo? Or the warlords of Guandong?"
Zhao Yun paused for a moment, then slowly spoke.
"Dong Zhuo was tyrannical, deposed the emperor, murdered the emperor, moved the capital and burned the city, so he was naturally guilty. Although the warlords in Guandong had made contributions in fighting Dong Zhuo, they actually had their own agendas, and the refugees in various places were inextricably linked to them."
He paused, then added, "They are all guilty."
Li Zhao nodded.
"You're right. But it's not enough."
Zhao Yun looked up at him.
Li Zhao got up and reached out to push the window panel open a crack.
A night breeze swept in, causing the lamplight to flicker.
Outside the window was the entire county town, pitch black.
"Listen," Li Zhao said.
Zhao Yun listened intently.
A county town with a population of over ten thousand is eerily silent after nightfall.
"In peaceful times, what sounds would be heard at this hour?" Li Zhao asked.
Zhao Yun did not answer.
He remembered his hometown of Zhengding. After nightfall, the old man who kept watch at the alley entrance would strike his bamboo clapper, the sound echoing from one end of the street to the other.
That's the kind of life people live.
"I once read a poem," Li Zhao said calmly, his back to Zhao Yun, "and there are two lines in it that I only now understand."
"When a dynasty prospers, the people suffer. When a dynasty falls, the people suffer."
Zhao Yunduan's hand holding the wine cup hovered in mid-air.
He was not a scholar; he was ignorant of classics and history, and knew nothing of poetry.
But he recognized each of these eight characters; when put together, they were like a blunt knife, slowly cutting into his chest.
With the court in turmoil, it doesn't matter who ascends the throne.
Dong Zhuo's crushing defeat would not reduce taxes and corvée labor by even a fraction, and Yuan Shao's great victory would not deter him from unifying the country.
Regardless of who wins or loses, it's always the ordinary people who suffer.
Zhao Yun put down his wine cup.
He stood up, took a step back, straightened his clothes, clasped his hands together, and bowed deeply.
"Brother Li."
Li Zhao turned around.
Zhao Yun straightened up, his gaze calm, no longer showing the hesitation he had during the day.
"I have been with Brother Li these past few days and I know that Brother Li's thoughts and ideas are not limited to one county or one place. I will remember these eight words today."
"If Brother Li does not despise me, I am willing to serve you wholeheartedly and find a way for the people to survive."
Li Zhao looked at the young man in front of him.
The lamplight shone on Zhao Yun's face, making his eyes appear frighteningly bright.
Historically, Zhao Yun charged in and out of Changbanpo seven times for the sake of "righteousness".
Now he stands before me, willing to serve the people wholeheartedly.
Li Zhao simply stepped forward and placed his hands on Zhao Yun's arms.
The two looked at each other, and Li Zhao sat down again, filling each of their cups.
"Starting tomorrow, the soup kitchens will remain open. But simply providing soup isn't enough; we need to find work for these people."
Zhao Yun raised an eyebrow: "How?"
"Among the refugees were young and strong, as well as the old and weak. The young and strong could reclaim wasteland, while the old and weak could spin hemp. By providing work relief, we kept the people here and helped them cultivate the land."
Li Zhao dipped his finger in wine and drew on the table.
"There are large tracts of wasteland in the southeast of Pingyuan County. They were abandoned a few years ago during the Yellow Turban Rebellion, and no one dared to cultivate them."
"It's only March now, if we act quickly, there's still time."
He gestured the name on the table:
"Among the refugees, able-bodied men were selected and organized into groups of ten, and groups of one hundred into hamlets. Each hamlet was headed by a hamlet leader, chosen from among the local farmers. They worked one day and were provided with two meals."
Zhao Yun thought for a moment: "Grow millet?"
"Millet and beans are intercropped. Millet is drought-resistant, beans help stabilize the soil, and seeds can be saved after the autumn harvest."
Zhao Yun nodded, as long as Li Zhao's decision wasn't impulsive.
Zhao Yun may not understand how to govern the people, but if anyone plots a rebellion, he will definitely eliminate them completely.