Volume One: The Hidden Dragon Beneath the Surface Chapter Sixteen: Casual Talk Beyond the City Walls

“Jing Bo, rest assured!” Liu Heng casually plucked a blade of foxtail grass, held it between his teeth, and mumbled, “Look over there, isn’t that some sign of life?”

He raised his hand and pointed to a spot not far away, near a small stream where several low and simple thatched huts clustered together, surrounded by a crooked fence enclosing a small courtyard.

The huts were clearly newly built; the colors of the earth and thatch were still fresh. Outside the fence, several fields of varying sizes had just been plowed, the soil soft and emitting a distinct earthy smell.

A few elderly farmers, dressed in patched short brown coats, bent over carefully tending to the young green sprouts in the vegetable beds.

Further away, scattered figures could be seen wielding crude farming tools, laboring hard to cultivate the vast wasteland.

Jing Bo followed Liu Heng’s gaze, his expression softening slightly, but he still muttered, “They look like honest, simple farmers, but the marquis is so noble and exalted…”

“Alright, alright,” Liu Heng interrupted, a little impatient with Jing Bo’s nagging. He spat out the grass stem, clapped his hands, and said, “Come on, let’s go take a look. Remember, I’m just a young master from the Liu family, who owns a few shops back home and came out to check on the harvest. Don’t keep talking about the marquis this and marquis that…”

Jing Bo could only sigh and reply, “Yes, sir,” before closely following him.

As they approached the thatched huts, by the edge of the field outside the courtyard, three elderly farmers were squatting together, pointing and whispering to a small patch of lush green vegetable seedlings. Their faces were deeply lined, weathered by sun and wind, but their eyes shone with hope.

“Gentlemen,” Liu Heng greeted with a smile, cupping his hands, “Pardon the intrusion. I’ve come from Gaoling City and saw the good work you’ve done here. The seedlings look vigorous. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The three farmers looked up upon hearing his voice. Seeing two well-dressed strangers, one of whom was a fair-skinned young man, they froze briefly, instinctively wary.

One of them, missing a front tooth and with dark skin, quickly stood up, nervously wiping his hands on his muddy trousers. His accent somewhat resembled that of the Guanzhong region in later times. “Young master… you flatter us. We’re just simple folk, scratching out a living. Who would dare to teach us?”

“You’re too modest,” Liu Heng said amiably, squatting down on the ridge closer to the seedlings and inspecting them with interest. “Is this newly reclaimed land? Looks like it’s been plowed deep. Are these turnip greens?”

Seeing Liu Heng squat so naturally and recognize the seedlings, the farmers’ guard lowered somewhat. The toothless old man smiled broadly. “Good eye, sir. Yes, these are turnip greens. This land… well, it’s thanks to the Marquis of Yangwu that it was allocated to folks like us.”

“Oh? The Marquis of Yangwu?” Liu Heng feigned surprise. “Isn’t he the newly appointed Left Fengyi?”

“That’s him!” The slightly younger, stooped farmer next to him eagerly added with gratitude, “The marquis recently drove out the Qiang tribes and dealt with many corrupt officials. I heard he raided the homes of the Yang family and those rotten officials as soon as he arrived at Gaoling City. People say the city gates still have heads hanging! Because the Yang family colluded with the Qiang, the marquis had them all killed. Good riddance! He also opened the granaries and distributed grain. Otherwise, folks like us would’ve starved by the roadside or been forced to work like beasts for the local strongmen, not even counted as human!”

His words came with such fervor that spittle flew.

“Shh! Old Zhao, quiet down!” Another elderly man, who had been silent and looked worried, tugged at his sleeve and glanced around cautiously, lowering his voice. “The marquis is a good man. I hear he’s only seventeen or eighteen, about the same age as this young master… but who knows? Beyond the Yang family, there might be enemies lurking in the shadows watching us.”

His face was full of caution.

Liu Heng understood immediately but wore an expression of sympathy. “You’re right to be cautious. So… how is the land distributed? How do you calculate the harvest? Are taxes heavy?”

The toothless old man sighed and relaxed a bit, counting on his rough fingers as he explained, “The marquis’s rules are clear: land is allocated per household, twenty mu each, free of charge, with very light taxes. I heard this was set during Emperor Wen’s time, a thirty-to-one tax rate. For the remaining wasteland, the first three years are tax-exempt, and afterward, it’s still thirty-to-one! That’s a huge improvement from before!”

His cloudy eyes gleamed. “Before, we worked ourselves to death, but taxes took half the harvest! In the eighth year of Yanxi, they added ten qian per mu! Early this spring, the elders said the emperor plans to renovate the palace after a fire. That adds another ten wen per mu! Plus all sorts of chaotic taxes. If disaster strikes, we can’t even save seeds; selling sons and daughters was common! In the end, the land was all taken by powerful families like the Yangs!”

Liu Heng knew about the palace renovations. After the fire in Luoyang, that old schemer Zhang Rang urged Emperor Ling to increase land taxes…

“That’s not all!” The stooped old Zhao couldn’t help but interrupt, pointing to another freshly plowed field nearby. “See that? My eldest and second son just opened that wasteland! As long as you have the strength to farm it, it’s yours! The marquis even set up porridge stations outside Gaoling City and distributed grain seeds by headcount! Our family got… got…”

He became too emotional to recall the exact amount.

“Three shi of millet!” The worried old man added, his expression lightening a bit. “And some bean seeds. Not much, but it’s life-saving! I’m over fifty, and this is the first time I’ve seen officials willingly give us grain seeds for reclamation! Before, if they didn’t steal your last bite, they were considered kind!”

He shook his head in disbelief.

Liu Heng listened quietly and casually asked, “Is that grain enough to last through the season? The marquis’s seeds seem too few, and the first year’s harvest on new land is likely limited.”

His words hit a tender spot. The toothless man’s excitement faded, and he sighed. “We eat sparingly, mix in wild vegetables and tree bark, tighten our belts and endure. The marquis gives seeds, not food. Saving some for planting next year is a must—no starving to death if it means losing next year’s seeds! And there are so many people in Left Fengyi; how much grain would be needed to feed everyone until harvest? Where would the marquis get so much to distribute?”

He tapped a battered clay pot beside him. “We scrape together some wheat bran and wild greens to make a porridge that keeps us going. We’re just hoping these turnip greens grow fast to add some chew.”

“Yes, it’s hard,” Old Zhao chimed in, eyes fixed on his family working the wasteland, “but it’s still better than being refugees or bullied by the strongmen! This land is ours! We sweat for it, we plant it ourselves! Even if the first year brings only one shi of millet, it’s ours! No need to fear looks or theft!”

“Our own land…” The worried old man repeated softly, wrinkles creasing his face as a faint smile finally appeared.

He gently touched a tender green seedling. “Yes, our own land. The marquis is just, but the work still depends on our strength and sweat. If we endure this hardship at the start, there will be hope afterward.”

Liu Heng’s heart felt lightly struck by something. He looked at these three faces, etched with hardship yet struggling toward hope, and saw in their eyes a reverence for “their own” land that was almost sacred. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

He couldn’t imagine the depths of their despair. Compared to the so-called hardships some in later times endlessly complained about, these people’s suffering was on an entirely different level.

Though he could never truly empathize with their despair, he felt how heavy even this faint hope was in their hearts.

Only now did Liu Heng begin to understand why so many people in the future would remember that old man with such reverence, why so many would treat him like a god—because he truly cared about those toiling in the lowest rungs, scraping the earth to survive.

The weight of hope in these farmers was more real, more profound than the battles Liu Heng had fought, the granaries he had opened, or the corrupt officials he had purged.

“You’re right,” Liu Heng said, standing up. “Relying on heaven or earth is no match for relying on oneself. With land, one has roots. I see you are skilled farmers; these turnip greens look strong. Autumn will bring a good harvest.”

“Thank you, young master!” The toothless man smiled and cupped his hands, returning to his simple farmer’s manner.

Liu Heng nodded, asked no more, said farewell, and slowly walked back along the ridge with Jing Bo. Behind them, the farmers’ low voices resumed, now debating whether the newly sprouted seedlings ought to be watered again.

The setting sun stretched their shadows long. Liu Heng walked slowly, his gaze sweeping over the freshly turned soil beneath his feet, the distant figures laboring on the wasteland, and the crooked but resilient thatched huts.

“Marquis, shall we return? The sun’s nearly setting,” Jing Bo whispered.

Liu Heng responded with a hum but did not quicken his pace. He bent down, scooping up a handful of earth from the ridge. The soil was moist and cool, slipping slowly through his fingers.

“Jing Bo,” he suddenly spoke softly, as if to himself, “how much grain can grow from this soil? How many families can it feed? How many… brave soldiers can it train?”

Jing Bo paused, looking at the soil falling from Liu Heng’s hand, then at his lord’s somewhat lonely profile bathed in sunset, pondering the meaning behind his words.

Then he answered cautiously, “I don’t understand such grand principles. I only know that when farmers have land and work hard, Heaven will be kind and grow the grain needed for life. When people are well-fed, their hearts are at peace, and their strength returns.”

Liu Heng said nothing more, opening his palm to let the last of the soil scatter in the wind. He cast one final glance at the newly reclaimed land fading into twilight, at the tiny yet tenacious figures like ants upon it…

“Let’s go back to the city.”

He turned and strode toward Gaoling City. The drumbeats from the western training ground grew clearer—thump, thump, thump—echoing within Liu Heng’s heart.

Jing Bo watched the young marquis’s mood lighten somewhat and felt a surge of happiness. The young marquis had improved, but his burdens seemed heavier now. He missed the carefree boy who once was, who if only he didn’t punish him so harshly, might have been even better…

…

Ten days later, before a mountain of documents, Liu Heng unfolded a secret letter hastily sent by Liu Tao from Luoyang. The paper was dust-streaked, the handwriting bold and upright as only Liu Tao’s could be, but the contents weighed heavily.

“...To my esteemed nephew Boyu: Your thunderous acts in Left Fengyi have caused shock and fear! Luoyang is shaken, criticism fierce. Zhang Rang, Zhao Zhong, and others wept before the emperor day and night, accusing you of ‘unauthorized killing of officials,’ ‘massacring gentry,’ and ‘provoking the Qiang tribes.’ Fortunately, Minister of Works Yuan and Grand Commandant Yang defended you, saying you root out corruption and pacify the region, and that your ‘epidemic prevention measures’ save lives. Though the emperor has not deeply blamed you, suspicions have arisen. The eunuchs are vicious and have spies everywhere; you must be cautious! Minister Yang advises: The land of Sanfu is not all wolves and tigers. Among the local strongmen, some can be allies, such as the Geng, Wei, and Du families of Fufeng, Jingshao, and Duling—families with a heritage of poetry and propriety who also have branches in Left Fengyi. They are not comparable to the likes of the Yang and Wang clans, who extort violently. These families may fear your authority or worry about the Qiang disturbances, but they can be divided and won over, used to stabilize the region and build your reputation in Guanzhong. If you act only with force, you risk making too many enemies and losing your foundation. Combining military suppression with appeasement, balancing firmness with gentleness, is the way to lasting success. Remember this well! Remember! Liu Tao bows deeply.”

Liu Heng’s finger traced heavily over the phrase “combining suppression with appeasement, balancing firmness with gentleness.”

Balance firmness and gentleness? Yang Ci and Liu Tao’s concerns were not without merit. The murky waters of Luoyang were hard to navigate! Those eunuchs like Zhang Rang were venomous snakes ready to strike, and his imperial uncle was no better.

But to ask him to speak kindly to those parasites sucking the lifeblood from Sanfu? What a joke! Every one of those bastards would be dealt with.

Though he could not indiscriminately kill like Huang Chao—wielding the clan registry in one hand and a blade in the other, counting off victims as the king of hell—he would not spare those like the Yang family who preyed on the countryside and colluded with the Qiang.

However, the letter’s mention of the Geng, Wei, and Du families presented a possible opening.

These longstanding aristocratic lineages rooted in Guanzhong had far better reputations than the Yangs and Wangs, with deeper foundations.

Perhaps they had not yet been touched because their interests remained intact; perhaps they worried about the Qiang unrest affecting their lands, so they remained quiet after the recent defeat of the Qiang.

One thing Liu Heng was fairly certain of: these venerable families were unlikely to be closely allied with the eunuchs, as their interests conflicted.

Moreover, these so-called families of poetry and propriety, who even General He Jin despised, surely detested those useless eunuchs.

“Balance firmness and gentleness… Hmph, then I’ll show you what ‘balance’ really means!”

Liu Heng sneered inwardly, his plan already taking shape.