Chapter Thirty-Seven: Taking Up the Post

Shen Chen’s demand for military training was hardly a whim. It was now the second year of Xingping, 195 AD, and next year Zhang Ji would attack Nanyang.

Moreover, Nanyang itself was far from a land of peace. The surrounding Funiu and Dabie Mountains harbored a great number of Yellow Turban remnants, who frequently raided the villages. Figures such as He Yi, Liu Pi, Huang Shao, and He Man each commanded tens of thousands, occupying the mountainous regions of Runan, Nanyang, and elsewhere. Scattered among them were countless smaller Yellow Turban strongholds and villages, along with many other bandits and wandering refugees.

The true shortage in Nanyang was not land, but people. Since the end of the Han, the population of Nanyang had halved, and deserted fields lay everywhere. If he could train a corps of soldiers, this would not only provide some capacity for self-defense, but also allow for the absorption of refugees and Yellow Turban remnants from Runan, thereby strengthening his own position.

Such a method was hardly Shen Chen’s invention; it was the approach adopted by most estate-owning gentry during the late Han. According to historical records, following the Yellow Turban Rebellion beginning in Jizhou, landowners everywhere, gripped by fear, accepted refugees, trained soldiers, and built fortified manors and villages for self-protection.

The most typical examples were Zhou Yu and Lu Su—one from a bureaucratic family, the other a powerful local clan—both of whom built their military strength in this way to survive the chaos. Later, when Sun Ce pacified Jiangdong, he borrowed just a thousand men from Yuan Shu. But as a childhood friend of Zhou Yu, and with Zhou Yu’s uncle being the Prefect of Danyang, Sun Ce was able to swiftly rally tens of thousands on his arrival in Jiangdong with their support.

The Shen family was merely a modest local clan, unlike the illustrious Zhou or Lu families. Even with the backing of the Dengs, they had no official positions and lacked any real power. Thus, Shen Chen had to seek out a different, if more laborious, path to strength.

With the new composting techniques greatly increasing grain yields, if he could train soldiers, he could gradually annex the scattered Yellow Turban villages nearby and absorb refugees. Large-scale cultivation would allow for grain reserves, which in turn would attract more followers, steadily building their power.

Yet training troops was no simple matter. Beyond drilling, there was the question of weapons and equipment—needs that mere farming could not supply, requiring economic growth as well.

Thus, Shen Chen planned to focus on agricultural expansion, supplementing it with porcelain and ironware trade to bolster resources. Porcelain in the Han had already developed well, though it was mostly simple yellow-ware; the best was the white porcelain from Jiangdong, famed in its own right, while the truly exquisite colored ceramics would not appear until the Tang era. Shen Chen, however, knew these techniques well enough to astonish the Han aristocracy.

After finalizing the plan with the clan elders, Shen Chen worked out the details of military training. He required the fifty chosen warriors to be fearless and resolute, bound by strict discipline and rewarded with ample rations.

The logistics would be supplied by the clan. After the bumper harvest, Shen Chen had decreed that every household contribute a tenth of their grain for public stores. This meant over a thousand mu of farmland, yielding some seven to eight thousand shi of grain annually, more than enough to support professional soldiers.

Given that a professional soldier consumed nearly three shi of grain per month, fifty soldiers would need less than two thousand shi a year. The rest would mostly be sold off to purchase salt, livestock, ironware, armor, bows, and horses for the troops.

In the ancient world, unless one raised peasant armies like the Yellow Turbans, the cost of maintaining an elite force was immense. For example, in the Song dynasty, a suit of armor for a Shenwu Right Army soldier cost fifty-eight strings of cash; with horse and weapons, the total cost approached two hundred strings. From the Eastern Han through the reign of Emperor Ling, the regular Northern Army never exceeded fifty thousand, and the court nearly went bankrupt to maintain them.

But as the saying goes, you get what you pay for. With just these tens of thousands, Emperor Ling managed to quell the Yellow Turban Rebellion.

Dong Zhuo, likewise, was able to unleash such chaos in Luoyang only by seizing control of the Northern Army and the Eight Divisions of the Western Garden.

So, while fifty men was not a large number, if equipped to regular army standards, their fighting strength would be formidable. Against five hundred Yellow Turban soldiers, these fifty could likely rout them head-on. This suited the clan’s current situation, with few members and the need for an elite guard.

Command of the unit was entrusted to veterans Deng Zhao and Shen Zhen, who would also oversee training, with Shen Chen merely offering guidance. The rigorous regimens of later-era “Iron Army” troops would be ill-suited to the Han, where faith and discipline were less motivating than the promise of spoils.

With these preparations in place, Shen Chen was finally ready to leave the clan for Xiangyang.

In early May, amid farewells from family and elders, Shen Chen and his Sixth Great Uncle set off southward in a cart pulled by two donkeys, accompanied only by Deng Hong and a servant to drive.

Xinye was close to Xiangyang—less than two hundred li—and if they traveled by boat, the journey south would take only seven or eight hours. In addition, Liu Biao had stationed ample troops throughout the region, so the route from Wancheng south to Xiangyang was quite safe.

The Dengs’ new residence lay north of the Sha River, close to Bi Shui, the future Tangzi River. Across the river was Huyang County.

They travelled for over two hours by donkey cart, setting off around nine in the morning and arriving near two in the afternoon. At first, after leaving the new village at Huangmen Pavilion, the southern landscape was desolate, but as they neared Huyang, clusters of villages, fields, mulberry groves, and ponds came into view.

Deng Hong, dressed in a scholar’s robe, knelt in the cart, while Shen Chen, less concerned with appearances, lay sprawled across the seat, jolted to pieces by the rutted road. Travel in these times was truly punishing; for short distances it was bearable, but anything longer—whether on horseback, by cart, or on foot—meant suffering. Riding or travelling by cart wore out your backside, walking ruined your legs, and the only tolerable means was travel by boat. But if you were prone to seasickness, then every journey became an ordeal—especially in summer, when it was worse than prison.

The pair drew considerable attention as they entered the northwest village near Huyang, with many locals turning to look. It was May, the height of summer, and in recent years the heat had only grown worse. The fields near Bi Shui were parched, the river’s water level dropping steeply in the relentless heat, and many villagers were digging irrigation ditches. Though millet and wheat were drought-resistant, they still needed water.

Seeing this, Shen Chen pondered for a moment, then said to Deng Hong, “Uncle, would you like a chance to make a name for yourself?”

“For what?” Deng Hong eyed him warily. His clever nephew was full of schemes—he’d even asked recently about marrying into a great family in Xiangyang—so he was naturally suspicious.

Shen Chen pointed into the distance, “I’ll teach you how to build a dragon-bone waterwheel. If you show the villagers, your name will be sung throughout the countryside.”

“And what good is fame among peasants?” Deng Hong shrugged. “Only renown among scholars truly counts.”

Shen Chen smiled, “Fame in the countryside is of great use. If we want Huangmen Pavilion to grow, we must attract the people. Once you teach them the waterwheel, the folk of Huyang will be grateful and your name will spread through every township. Then, when the time comes and Nanyang is attacked, you can tell them to head north to join us. Wouldn’t that swell our ranks?”

“There will be war in Nanyang?” Deng Hong immediately picked up on the implication. He might not have been well-educated before, but after spending time with his nephew, he had learned to grasp the main point.

Shen Chen smiled, “Uncle, surely you don’t think Jingzhou is a land of peace? To tell you the truth, I fear that within a year or two, Nanyang will be plunged into chaos, and our clan must be prepared.”

Zhang Ji would invade Nanyang, Liu Biao would hand over Wancheng to Zhang Xiu, and then Cao Cao, in repeated campaigns against Zhang Xiu, would inflict heavy losses on both Zhang Xiu and Liu Biao, with countless residents of northern Nanyang—among them the family of Deng Ai—forced to migrate. Not to mention, on the eve of the Battle of Red Cliffs, Liu Cong would surrender to Cao Cao, Liu Bei would flee south, and more than a hundred thousand people from Xinye would follow him, throwing all of Nanyang into turmoil.

So from 196 to 208 AD, the region of Nanyang would know little peace. Major battles would break out between Zhang Xiu and Cao Cao, and on a smaller scale, the Yellow Turbans and Cao Cao’s campaigns against the Runan rebels would bring constant strife. It was imperative to make preparations before the storm broke, to lay the groundwork for future strength.

“I understand,” Deng Hong nodded thoughtfully.

The two continued south. There was no way to build a dragon-bone waterwheel just then, but Shen Chen intended to teach Deng Hong how to make one once they reached Xiangyang. Once it was built, Deng Hong could travel across Nanyang to spread the knowledge, and in the regions surrounding Huangmen Pavilion—near Sha River, Huyang, Xiangxiang, Pingshi, Yuyang—numerous such machines could be built, spreading his fame among the peasantry.

By the time Zhang Ji’s army swept south, the fortifications and manors built by the people of Huangmen Pavilion would already offer some defense, drawing in more villagers.

The donkey cart made good time, covering over fifty kilometers in five hours, and by seven in the evening they reached the outskirts of Xiangyang. Entering the city that night was impossible, so they found lodging in Fancheng.

As they neared Xiangyang, Shen Chen saw crowds of refugees moving south along the road. These were the fortunate ones—near Ligou and Shunyang, close to Wuguan, it was said that over a hundred thousand people had gathered.

Last summer, Guanzhong suffered a severe drought, grain prices soared, and the people of Kuan’an resorted to cannibalism. When Emperor Liu Xie tried to open the granaries, the supplies were embezzled, and Li Jue and Guo Si even looted the food sent out, creating a devastating famine. Of the million people who had once lived in Guanzhong, countless died of hunger, and those able to migrate fled to Guanzhong, Yizhou, and Nanyang, indirectly replenishing the population of these regions.