ebookland 014 A backlash from raising a treacherous spirit? This disaster could have been avoided.
014 A backlash from raising a treacherous spirit? This disaster could have been avoided.
The summer rain in the third year of the Tianbao era came strangely—it first beat a muffled drum on the eaves of the Honglu Temple for three days, and when Zhen Xiaosi unfolded the "Detailed List of Rewards for the Yelu River", a sudden rain came, which blotted out the ink on the paper that read "one hundred bolts of silk bestowed annually", as if the numbers were crying.
She gazed out the window, lost in thought, when she suddenly remembered the joke her uncle, Joan of Arc, had made the other day: "Xiao Si, do you think the way our Tang Dynasty raises its border troops is like those who raise hawks in my hometown of Yingzhou? They're clearly afraid the hawks will scratch people, but they deliberately starve them to train their ferocity; when they're really hungry, they're reluctant to feed them meat, only giving them some chaff—and as a result, the hawks get desperate and turn around to peck at their owners' hands?"
At the time, she took it as a casual joke. But now, looking at this shocking list of rewards, she realizes how profound her uncle's humor was.
The ledger was spread out, and the names of 8,400 surrendered Khitan and Xi soldiers coiled like a venomous snake on the paper. They were given the name "Yeluohe"—warrior in Turkic—and were equipped with the finest warhorses from the Hexi region of Youzhou, and clad in the gleaming armor reserved only for the Imperial Guards. In the accompanying "Drill Diagram," the Hu soldiers were arrayed in a solemn formation, their long swords reflecting a blinding light.
But what truly sent chills down Zhen Xiaosi's spine was a small note in the corner: "Formerly a subordinate of Li Guo, surrendered after the defeat at Huangshui."
Li Guozhe. The Khitan chieftain who had been appointed governor of Songmo by Emperor Xuanzong three years prior, only to be assassinated by his general Nie Li three months later. The court tacitly approved the murder because Nie Li had sent twenty pearls and a flattering remark.
Today, Li Guozhe's former troops have become the most elite "personal soldiers" of the Tang Dynasty, enjoying five times the pay of the Han army.
She rose and pulled a volume of "The Regulations for the Settlement of People in the Zhenguan Era" from deep within the archive shelf, dust swirling in the beam of light. The methods of handling the situation during the reign of Emperor Taizong flowed like a clear spring across the page: the surrendered Turks were divided into six prefectures, living among the Han people, and their children were sent to the Imperial Academy. Within ten years, "all the young men of the former tribes were able to speak the Tang dialect and recite the Classic of Filial Piety."
Digest, not confine. Integrate, not exploit.
“This is what true falconry is all about.” Joan of Arc’s voice seemed to echo in my ears again. “Have you ever seen how falconers on the grasslands do it? First, they blindfold the falconer, making it forget what the sky looks like; then they let it stand on their arms, eating and sleeping together; finally, when feeding it, they personally hand it the meat—only then will the falcon recognize its master. How can you do it like this, throwing the meat far away and letting eight thousand falcons crowd together to fight for it?”
Three days later, she found the torn-up "Memorial Requesting the Relocation of Hu Households in Youzhou" in the old papers piled up in the Cardinal's office. The glued-together marks resembled wounds, but Zhang Jiuling's powerful handwriting, penetrating the back of the paper, was still clear: "Now, more than ten thousand Hu soldiers are kept, living in clans, armored and fed. This is not raising hawks, but feeding tigers beside one's bed..."
The reply consisted of only two characters in red ink: "Delayed." It was signed Li Linfu.
But a note pasted on the back of the document startled her even more—it was written in a woman's delicate handwriting: "The governor of An sent word: If the Hu households are relocated, then there will be no one in Hebei to graze horses, mine iron, or serve as a captive general." There was a small note on the edge: "The emperor and the imperial concubine have composed a new 'Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Robe' and do not wish to hear of the disturbances in the north."
Zhen Xiaosi sat amidst the scattered scraps of paper on the floor and suddenly burst into laughter. The laughter echoed in the empty archives, carrying a hint of madness.
What she laughed at was the system's ingenuity and folly: everyone knew about the hidden dangers, and everyone was protecting them. Because the hidden dangers had become a chain of interests—An Lushan needed Hu Bing to maintain the military merit production line, Chang'an needed reports of victory to embellish the prosperous era, Li Linfu needed tributes from the border generals, and even Emperor Xuanzong needed "peace" on the border to fulfill his "Rainbow Feather Robe Dance".
That night she went to Anyifang. In the inn of an old Sogdian merchant, she heard an even more naked truth.
"Does the young lady know the rules of Youzhou now?" The old merchant took a swig of wine, his beard stained with purplish-red stains. "Han soldiers defend the city, Hu soldiers go out to fight. Han soldiers who escape are caught and beheaded, Hu soldiers who escape? Governor An sends people to their tribes to bring their parents, wives and children to Youzhou City—ostensibly to 'settle their families,' but in reality to hold them hostage."
He lowered his voice: "The parents of those soldiers from Yeluohe live in the 'Guihua Camp' south of the city, receiving rice and rations each month based on their sons' military merits. The more heads their sons behead, the better the parents eat. Tell me, do you think soldiers raised like this are loyal to the Tang Dynasty or to An Jiedushi?"
Zhen Xiaosi recalled the secret report from the Ministry of War: less than 10% of the Hu soldiers in Fanyang Town had deserted. She didn't understand it then, but now she did—these Hu soldiers had been uprooted, and they had no way out except to sell their lives to the person who fed them.
Back at the Court of State Ceremonial, she did something under the lamp that could cost her her head: she laid out Zhang Jiuling's old memorial, the list of names of the Yiluo River, and the regulations of Emperor Taizong side by side, and crossed them out with a red brush.
Zhang Jiuling's "relocation and assimilation" required: touching the land of powerful families in Hebei, testing the court's patience for ten years, and breaking down prejudices against Chinese and barbarians. The result was: long-term stability and peace.
An Lushan's "raising barbarians as soldiers" required: falsified military pay (which the Ministry of Revenue could account for), embezzled warhorses (which could be transferred from other garrisons), and future risks (the risks lay in the future). What he gained was: immediate good news, a constant stream of auspicious omens, and a seemingly loyal "barrier."
In Emperor Xuanzong's calculations, which side was more advantageous?
She opened the window, and the lights of the Daming Palace burned all night. The faint sounds of the sheng and xiao from the "Taiping Yue" opera could be heard. The passages in the song that required "the submission of the four barbarians" and the lyrics of "the loyalty of the barbarian generals"—and Zhang Jiuling's memorial and Li Linfu's "delay" had already given the answer to this era.
This is not a suicide of ethnic policy, but a shrewd calculation of short-sighted politics.
Zhen Xiaosi suddenly recalled a scene she had witnessed in Yingzhou when she was a child: her grandfather threw a piece of raw meat to the guard dog, and as the dog pounced on it, its fangs grazed the back of her grandfather's hand. The servants exclaimed in surprise, but her grandfather laughed and said, "It's alright, it knows that the meat was given to it by me."
"What if there's no meat left to give us one day?" she asked as a child.
After a long silence, her grandfather patted her head and said, "Then we'll see whether the mastiffs starve to death first, or we get bitten to death first."
These eight thousand mastiffs of the Yelu River are the eight thousand mastiffs fed by the Tang Dynasty itself. The meat used to feed them is the war merits cut from their own kind, the generous pay falsely claimed from the Tang Dynasty's treasury, and the grain scraped from the teeth of the people of Hebei.
Even more terrifying is that the person holding the rope thinks it's strong—it's a rope woven from silk, soaked in the grease of profit, seemingly shiny, but actually it breaks with a single bite.
A month later, another victory report arrived from Youzhou: two thousand Khitan troops were killed in the Yeluohe battle, An Lushan was promoted to Imperial Censor, and each of the eight thousand Yeluohe soldiers was awarded an additional twenty bolts of silk.
When the good news arrived, Joan of Arc was looking for her at the Court of State Ceremonial. After reading the document, the young uncle actually whistled:
"A good deal! Killing his own former kin for a reward, and the reward money comes from the Tang Dynasty—Fatty An's scheme is even more ruthless than the shrewdest horse trader in my hometown." He paused, his smile turning cold. "But Xiao Si, let me teach you a lesson: what makes a wolf turn back to bite its own kind isn't taming, but letting it taste human blood. Once it discovers its master's blood is sweeter..."
He didn't continue speaking, but simply patted the horizontal sword at his waist. The scabbard clashed with the jade pendant, making a crisp sound.
Zhen Xiaosi looked north. The rain had stopped, and dark clouds churned in the sky, their shapes resembling a stampede of ten thousand horses.
She knew that those well-fed mastiffs would eventually turn their backs—not because they were ungrateful, but because their feeders had long forgotten: what you feed them, they become. If you feed them hatred, they become knives of revenge; if you feed them greed, they become beasts of greed.
But those nurtured by a false sense of prosperity, by short-sighted calculations, and by the arrogance of separating Chinese and barbarians are destined to become a group of monsters who can smell the prosperity of Chang'an and also remember the pain of the grasslands...