While chatting with Qinghuai in Xihewan, Jin Feng learned about the basic situation of Dakang.
Dakang’s territory was similar to the Northern Song Dynasty of his previous life. To the northwest lay the Dangxiang regime, established by the Dangxiang people. The Khitans roamed the vast northern grasslands, while the southwestern plateau was home to the Tubo people and a state called Dazhao.
Dazhao and Dakang were separated by numerous mountains, and recent generations of Dazhao’s rulers, devout Buddhists, maintained relatively peaceful relations with Dakang.
The Tubo were ferocious, with a history of countless conflicts with the Central Plains regimes. However, internal divisions among several Tubo factions kept them preoccupied with their own battles, leaving no energy to invade Dakang.
Dakang’s greatest enemies were the northern Khitans and the northwestern Dangxiang, who frequently raided the borders and provoked wars.
In truth, Dakang had brought this upon itself.
At its founding, Dakang boasted a strong military and prosperous economy, while the Khitans and Dangxiang were still backward, using wooden and bamboo weapons. For over a century, the three sides coexisted peacefully, engaging in extensive trade.
The Khitans and Dangxiang were so primitive, and their herders so naive, that Dakang nobles amassed fortunes by trading small amounts of iron tools, grain, and cloth for vast numbers of cattle and sheep from the grasslands and deserts.
But this prosperity didn’t last. As iron-smelting techniques reached the grasslands, the Khitans and Dangxiang began crafting sturdy weapons and armor.
Seventy years ago, the Khitans launched their first invasion of the Central Plains. Two thousand fierce cavalry, riding heavily armored horses, charged the border.
By then, Dakang’s policy of favoring scholars over warriors had been in place for years. The military was filled with pampered sons of officials seeking credentials, no match for the ferocious Khitan cavalry. Wuzhou’s thirteen thousand defenders, despite high, sturdy walls, were routed by just two thousand Khitans, fleeing in disarray.
The Khitans, with a mere two thousand men, swept through to the Yellow River before halting.
This battle terrified Dakang’s emperor, who hurriedly sent envoys to negotiate peace at the river. Offering a princess, vast resources, and a treaty promising annual tributes, the Khitans returned to the grasslands.
Seeing Dakang’s weakness, the Dangxiang followed suit. Five thousand cavalry stormed the border, scattering thirty thousand defenders. Like the Khitans, they left with a princess, resources, and a tribute agreement.
After receiving these concessions, the Khitans and Dangxiang stayed quiet for two years, leading Dakang’s emperor and ministers to naively believe that the princesses and tributes would keep them pacified in their grasslands and deserts.
Reality proved otherwise: human greed knows no bounds.
More princesses were sent to the grasslands, tributes grew heavier, yet the Khitans and Dangxiang raided the borders more frequently.
Left with no choice, Dakang began to resist. But the Khitan and Dangxiang cavalry were too formidable. Unable to win, Dakang resorted to piling up lives.
Since last year, the Dangxiang had begun a new wave of incursions, initially probing, but after the new year, they amassed troops at the border, preparing for a full-scale invasion.
Jinchuan County, in northern Sichuan, was Qinghuai’s starting point. His destination, Weizhou in northern Shaanxi, was less than four hundred kilometers away in a straight line. In the modern world, it would be a few hours’ drive. But Dakang had no highways, and many areas lacked even mountain paths, making travel much slower.
They would first reach the Jialing River, travel upstream to near Fengyang, then switch to overland routes. The journey would take at least ten days.
This urgency drove Qinghuai to depart quickly.
Jinchuan was close to the Jialing River. The convoy set out before dawn and reached the dock by mid-morning.
A large wooden ship awaited Qinghuai, the marquis, at the dock.
The guards led the horses onto the ship, but Jin Feng’s carriage was left ashore. It took up too much space, and after disembarking at Fengyang, they faced hundreds of miles of overland travel where a carriage would be too slow.
Thus, Jin Feng and Mancang had a new task on the ship: learning to ride horses.
Qinghuai led Jin Feng aboard, where a fat man in ornate silk robes hurried forward, bowing from a distance, “Lord, I’ve finally awaited your arrival.”
He was a salt merchant, and the ship was his, loaded with salt bound for Guanzhong.
When Qinghuai sent someone to Bianjing with a letter, he had prepared for the northward journey, dispatching men to intercept passing ships at the Jialing River. This salt merchant was the unlucky one caught.
The Jialing River, a major Yangtze tributary, had swift currents. Downstream, one could travel from Fengyang to Jinchuan in a day or two, but upstream required trackers to pull the ship, as oars and sails were ineffective.
The large ship, heavy with cargo, needed many boatmen and trackers. Each day’s delay increased the merchant’s costs.
In Dakang, where scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants ranked in that order, merchants held low status. Despite daily losses, the merchant didn’t dare leave and had to wait as Qinghuai ordered.
He had waited seven or eight days.
When news came yesterday that Qinghuai was arriving, the fat man nearly wept with relief.
“Are you the ship’s owner?”
Despite making the man wait, Qinghuai showed no embarrassment, casually glancing at him, “Are our cabins ready?”
To Qinghuai’s haughty demeanor, the fat man responded with even greater deference, bowing and leading the way, “They’ve been ready, the best cabins on the ship.”
Jin Feng thought of modern business tycoons and felt pity for merchants in this era.
The merchant hadn’t lied. He had given up the best cabins. Jin Feng and Qinghuai each got a private room, while Mancang and the guards shared rooms, four to a cabin.
At Qinghuai’s order to set sail, the fat man shouted excitedly, “Raise anchor, set sail!”
“Raise anchor! Set sail!”
The trackers on the shore echoed, and the ship began to move slowly.
“Three feet of white cloth, heave-ho! Four ounces of hemp, heave-ho! Feet on the stones, heave-ho! Hands clawing sand, heave-ho! Bare bodies climbing, heave-ho!…”
From the shore came the rhythmic chants of the trackers.
Jin Feng, experiencing a man-powered wooden ship for the first time, ran to the deck to watch.
On the left riverbank, thirty or forty tanned men, bare except for a palm-wide strap across their backs, leaned forward, nearly crawling on all fours.
“Why aren’t they wearing clothes? There are even two women back there, and they don’t cover up.”
Mancang, also new to ships, joined Jin Feng on the deck.
Seeing the trackers completely naked, he was astonished.
