MLMD -Chapter 416 Raiding the Grasslands

April was an important season for both agrarian and nomadic peoples. For farming societies, April marked the end of spring plowing and the beginning of a brief slack season—a rare time in the year when peasants could finally rest. For nomadic peoples, April was when the earth awakened, grasses grew lush and birds took flight. Herders would begin grazing their sheep and horses, fattening their livestock. And if the mood struck them, they could mount their horses, grab their weapons, and make a foray south of the passes to pick up a bit of profit along the way.

Such a life was perfectly normal for nomads; it was how they had lived for generations. But those good days were gone forever. The Great Ming now seemed to have become an entirely different creature—what had once been a meek little rabbit had turned into a bloodthirsty old tiger, jaws wide open as it pressed relentlessly toward Shengjing. The current garrison commander of Jinzhou was a war-crazed madman, constantly dispatching troops to harass Shengjing. Whenever they encountered large Manchu forces, they fled; but if they spotted small detachments, they pounced like starving wolves. After repeated clashes, both sides had suffered losses.

“Clop, clop…”

An unhurried rhythm of hoofbeats came across the ground. Soon, a small unit of more than ten Qing soldiers approached from afar. They wore white armor trimmed with red edges; from their attire it was clear they belonged to the Bordered White Banner.

Leading them was a fende bosiku, a junior officer with two small flags tucked into his collar. He was powerfully built, with a thick neck, and wore two layers of heavy armor. The thick leather cuirass studded with large copper rivets looked exceptionally sturdy.

The Qing soldiers moved slowly across the uneven terrain, lined up in a single file. One of them rode forward and said to the fende bosiku, “My lord, we’ve been on the road for quite a while now. The brothers are tired—how about letting them stop and rest for a bit?”

The fende bosiku glanced back at his weary companions and nodded. “All right. Tell the brothers to dismount, have something to eat, and take off the saddles so the horses can rest too.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier responded, put his fingers to his mouth, and let out a sharp whistle. The unit quickly halted. It was obvious these men were seasoned veterans. As soon as the order to rest was given, without being told, two riders galloped off toward nearby high ground to stand watch while the others rested.

The remaining soldiers dismounted, removed the saddles, and fed their horses fodder and water. Only after tending properly to their mounts did they sit down themselves. For nomads—especially cavalry—horses were far more than mere companions; they were practically their lifelines. Even while resting, their first instinct was always to care for their mounts.

The fende bosiku, however, did not need to perform such menial tasks. Though he was only a petty officer of little consequence, rank was rank, and it came with privileges. Once he sat down, someone else fed his horse for him.

After he settled in, an attendant handed him a coarse flatbread. This bread, known as “pierced flatbread,” was a mixed-grain ration made from wild vegetables, sorghum, crushed wheat, and coarse salt, baked into hard cakes. It could be stored for months and was the primary field ration of the Ming army. Though it tasted awful, its portability and durability made it popular—and the Qing had shamelessly adopted it as well.

After a few bites, the fende bosiku found it impossible to swallow. Spitting twice, he spat out the bread and cursed, “Damn it all, this tastes like shit! How many wild weeds did they stuff into this thing?”

A nearby soldier chuckled ingratiatingly. “My lord, please bear with it. The harvest’s been bad lately. These flatbreads were only gotten after I begged the folks behind us. Once we reach the village ahead, I’ll treat you to some mutton.”

“Hmph… No grain? That’s easy enough—just go raid Ming territory a few times and we’ll have plenty,” the fende bosiku muttered sourly.

The surrounding soldiers heard him, but no one echoed his words. Times were different now. Going south to raid Ming lands was like carrying a lantern into a latrine—asking for shit, or rather, death.

Despite how hard and stone-like the bread was, hunger won out. The fende bosiku forced down a few more bites, then pulled out a gourd and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold water. Only then did his stomach feel slightly better.

After resting a while longer, he stood up, brushed the dust off his backside, and shouted, “All right, enough resting. Let’s hurry to Mantun Village. Nerehe just said it—tonight he’s treating everyone to mutton!”

“Heh heh…”

At their superior’s words, the men still resting all laughed. They rose, tightened the straps, secured the saddles, fitted the bridles, and set off again toward their destination.

Half an hour later, the group arrived near a grove of trees. A small river wound its way westward around the forest. The outlines of several houses were faintly visible, along with wisps of smoke rising into the air.

The Qing soldier named Nerehe excitedly said to the fende bosiku, “My lord—we’re here! That village ahead is my home! Once we get there, I’ll treat you and the brothers to a whole roasted sheep!”

“Haha! Good lad, you’ve got sense. My mouth’s gone so bland these days I could spit feathers,” the fende bosiku laughed.

Enticed by the promise of roast lamb, everyone’s spirits soared. They spurred their horses and galloped toward the village. But after riding a short distance, something began to feel wrong. The road was eerily quiet—there wasn’t a single banner civilian out working the fields. To veterans of countless battles, the scene felt unsettlingly strange.

The fende bosiku’s expression changed. Just as he was about to warn the men to be cautious, Nerehe lashed his horse hard and sped toward the village. Before anyone could stop him, he disappeared around the corner of the houses.

The fende bosiku’s face darkened. In a low voice he barked, “Everyone, draw your weapons and follow quickly. Something’s not right.”

The men pulled out their arms and hurried after him. Before they even entered the village, a shrill, agonized scream rang out from one side.

“Not good—something’s happened! Move!”

When they reached the village, an appalling sight greeted them. Corpses lay scattered everywhere, strewn across the ground, all dressed in Manchu clothing. Nerehe was kneeling on the ground, clutching two bodies and wailing uncontrollably.

“What… what happened here? Who did this?” Many eyes reddened with rage. Though these people weren’t their kin, they were all Manchus. To have them slaughtered right under their noses—no hot-blooded man could endure that.

“My lord… it was the Ming army. Many of these wounds were made by firelocks,” said a seasoned Qing soldier after quickly examining several bodies.

The fende bosiku felt his heart sink like a stone into deep water, his whole body growing heavy. There was no need for further discussion. In this region, only two forces used firearms: the Han Banner troops—who could be dismissed outright, as they wouldn’t dare kill Manchus even with ten times the courage—and the Ming garrison stationed hundreds of li away at Jinzhou. At the thought, his heart felt as if it had been filled with lead; even breathing became difficult.

“My lord… these bodies aren’t stiff yet. The Ming troops can’t have gone far—we can still catch them!” That statement instantly ignited the fury of everyone present. Eyes blazing red, the Qing soldiers leapt into action. Nerehe was the first to mount his horse, and with a long whinny he followed the trail at full speed.

“My lord… what should we do?” The others all looked to the fende bosiku.

As the highest-ranking officer present, he inwardly cursed his bad luck. Rationally, the best course was to report immediately to the nearest garrison and mobilize larger forces to encircle the Ming troops. But emotionally, that option was impossible. He knew that if he dared suggest not avenging the slaughtered banner men, morale would collapse at once—and his career would be finished.

Left with no choice, he took a deep breath, sent one rider to report to nearby forces, and then led the remaining dozen men to follow the tracks in pursuit.

More than ten li away, thirty-plus Ming soldiers were heading home. Before them was a large herd of cattle, sheep, and horses. Many horses were laden with bundles, and several even had women tied across their backs.

Bai Kai rode a brown warhorse, surveying the livestock and packs with satisfaction. But when his gaze fell on the women bound to the horses, unease stirred in his heart. The haul from this raid far exceeded his expectations. They had only wiped out a single village, yet had gained so many animals—and quite a bit of gold and silver as well. He felt no guilt about taking the valuables; many pieces bore clear Ming markings, obviously looted earlier by the Manchus from the Central Plains. They were merely reclaiming what had been stolen. The women, however, made him scratch his head.

A Ming soldier sidled up and grinned. “Boss… this time our Eighth Squad has really struck it rich. Once we get back, each brother will get at least a hundred taels of silver, right?”

Seeing his companion grinning from ear to ear, Bai Kai scolded him irritably, “Look at the lot of you. In my opinion, we should’ve just taken the livestock and valuables. You insisted on dragging these women along—slowing us down and bringing trouble once we’re back.”

“Boss, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?” the man replied disdainfully. “If I remember right, you’re already twenty-two this year and still a bachelor. Once we bring them back, you could pick one as a foot-warmer maid. At worst, she can help with chores at home. Every other unit does the same, don’t they?”

“What? That’s really a thing?” Bai Kai exclaimed in shock.

Bai Kai served in the Jinzhou garrison. Years of warfare had forged him from a naïve youth into an excellent scout. Based on his record, he could have requested a transfer back to Shanxi, but having grown accustomed to life in the saddle, he chose to stay at the frontier. Since Yue Yang had reclaimed Jinzhou and taken full control of Liaodong’s defenses, the balance of offense and defense between Ming and Qing had reversed. Now it was the Ming border troops who launched frequent, aggressive raids. Though Jinzhou’s commander, Yue Shunbao, was forbidden by Yue Yang to initiate large-scale offensives, small-scale harassment into Qing territory was common.

The Qing were helpless. Had the Ming dared such actions years ago, they would have been beaten into pulp. But against Yue Yang and his Xuanda Army, the Qing had no choice but to swallow their anger. The reason was simple—the situation no longer favored them.

Under Xuanda Army rules, spoils were normally divided with three parts to individuals and seven to the state. But for proactive grassland raids, Yue Yang instituted new regulations: raiders could keep seventy percent, with only thirty percent turned over. Driven by profit, the number and frequency of such raids skyrocketed, pushing ever deeper into Qing territory—once even coming within a hundred li of Shengjing.

Wherever these Ming troops went, they were like locusts—burning, killing, looting everything: grain, valuables, even people. Their behavior mirrored the Qing invasions of the past. Yue Yang was aware of it, but tacitly approved. War, after all, was about destroying the enemy at any cost; mercy had no place in it.

“Ah—!”

A sudden scream rang out ahead. Bai Kai turned to see a woman falling from a horse, hitting the ground hard and crying out in pain.

A scout behind them rode forward menacingly, about to teach her a lesson. Bai Kai frowned, rode up, and stopped him. Dismounting, he hauled the woman back up—but she turned on him fiercely and spat, “Ming dog, don’t touch me!”

“Bastard!” The scout, already angry, raised his whip to strike her. The woman, however, showed no fear and lifted her chin defiantly. “Go on, hit me! If you’ve got the guts, kill me!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bai Kai laughed despite himself, then asked curiously, “Didn’t expect a barbarian woman like you to speak Chinese. That’s rare.”

She snorted. “Our village had plenty of Han slaves. What’s so strange about speaking Han?”

Bai Kai frowned. Young as she was, her tongue was vicious. He wanted to teach her a lesson, but he’d never had the habit of hitting women. With a snort, he lifted her back onto the horse. When she struggled again, he warned coldly, “If you fall off again, I’ll have you trampled.”

Trampling was a nomadic punishment: the condemned was stuffed into a sack and dozens—sometimes hundreds—of horses were driven over them until they were reduced to pulp. Its cruelty meant it was reserved only for the most heinous criminals. The woman shuddered at the threat and immediately went still.

Seeing her finally behave, Bai Kai remounted and continued on. The scout sidled up again, grinning. “Boss… you’ve got a good eye. Took a liking to that woman pretty quick, huh?”

“You’ve got too much imagination,” Bai Kai replied helplessly, shooting him a glare. Still… truth be told, that Manchu woman really wasn’t bad-looking—ample chest and hips, clearly fertile.

“Ahem…”

Realizing his thoughts were wandering, Bai Kai glanced around to make sure no one noticed, then stole a sideways look at the woman bound to the horse.

“Clop, clop…”

Hoofbeats sounded as a scout galloped up from behind, shouting, “Boss! Tatars are chasing us!”

“What? How many?” Bai Kai snapped upright.

“Not many—just over ten. But I’m worried there’s a larger force behind them.”

Bai Kai looked at the hundreds of animals and dozen women they’d seized, nodding grimly. Ten or so Qing soldiers were nothing—but if a larger force followed, they’d be forced to abandon their hard-won spoils to escape. Losing everything after gaining it would be unbearable.

Setting aside his worries, Bai Kai ordered a squad leader, “Take twenty men and set up an ambush nearby. When the Tatars arrive, finish them with firelocks. Remember—if there’s a larger force behind them, signal immediately. We’ll abandon the loot and run. Don’t try to fight them head-on; fall back and regroup. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The squad leader nodded, taking twenty scouts to set up an ambush as ordered…