Chapter 79: A Battle of Words with the Refugees

Seeing the crowd closing in, the situation perilous, Zhang Chi walked over to the Wine Maiden, took her hand, and asked, “Are you afraid?”

The Wine Maiden, gentle by nature and especially compliant toward Zhang Chi, met his gaze and smiled serenely. “As long as I am with you, I fear nothing.”

Her other hand still rested on the shoulder of the woman she had just covered with a cloak. That woman, bound tightly to a tree, could not stop weeping. Zhang Chi knew that in the face of such calamity, words of comfort were useless. He could only sigh and say, “Crying will do you no good. Even in death, one must die with dignity.”

When had the common people of this era ever felt they possessed dignity? Though the woman had long since been frightened out of her wits, Zhang Chi’s words sent a shudder through her heart. She forced herself to stifle her sobs.

Indeed, if your fate is to fall to the enemy’s blade, what use is wailing and begging? In these chaotic times, the lives of the people are worth less than grass, yet even so, one must keep their dignity. What a person ought to possess is not the hope for mercy from their enemies, but resistance and defiance!

Gradually, under the Wine Maiden’s gentle smile, the woman’s terror eased. The Wine Maiden patted her lightly, as if soothing a frightened foal, and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I used to be fearful too, but ever since I started following my lord, I’ve slowly learned that though one may weep for the world’s suffering, one must never cry or beg before those who raise blades to slaughter them.”

That such words should come from the gentle Wine Maiden surprised even Zhang Chi, who couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. He did not realize that his own attitude—appearing carefree and indifferent, seeking only pleasure and drink, never one to care much for the affairs of the world, yet never submitting to humiliation or oppression—had subtly influenced the once-timid Wine Maiden.

The woman tied to the tree was but the daughter of a common family. Though she could not grasp the deeper meaning of these words, she understood the simple truth: If these people saw her as livestock to be slaughtered, was she to die like a pig, doing nothing but wailing and screaming when the knife fell?

Some beasts may not treat humans as humans, but she herself could never stoop so low. If she did, what difference would there be between her and the pigs being butchered?

To face death without fear—though the woman knew this was how she ought to be, the thought brought a wave of sorrow, and she could not help but sob again.

After all, she was just an ordinary village girl.

By now, the followers of the Way of Five Pecks of Rice had completely encircled them. One among them, brandishing a long blade, shouted, “Are you lot ghosts—or are you simply tired of living and plotting rebellion?”

Because of Zhang Chi’s attire, the man took him for an ordinary believer. Zhang Chi did not bother to explain. Instead, he swept his gaze around and declared in a loud, righteous voice, “Which of you can tell me why you have gathered here from every corner of the land, taken up arms in rebellion, risking your lives to attack Jiankang and then Shanyin? What is it that you are fighting for?”

Someone in the crowd replied, “Isn’t it obvious? The court is corrupt and the aristocratic clans are everywhere—we can’t survive anymore. We joined the Heavenly Master’s Way to create an egalitarian world, so the elderly will be cared for and the young will be protected!”

“Yes, that’s right,” others echoed.

“Nonsense!” Zhang Chi thundered. “You feast on the flesh of the people, yet speak of caring for them? Of providing for the old and the young?”

At his words, many among the followers lowered their heads in shame. They were not all heartless. Though some had resorted to cannibalism, it had been against the aristocratic clans, whom the displaced masses hated with a passion. But to eat fellow commoners—many of the believers harbored silent disgust. Yet, none dared to speak out.

Now that Zhang Chi had spoken, some in the crowd found their voice: “He’s right! How can we claim to build a world for the people if we consume their flesh?”

A heated debate erupted among the crowd.

The man with the long blade, apparently a loyal disciple of Sun Tai, grew furious. “How short-sighted you all are! When we were in the Holy Land, we grew our own food. Now, with the imperial army hunting us, where can we get provisions? If we starve, who will be left to build the world we dream of? These fools are content to be oxen and horses for the court—what difference does it make if they live or die? Better to let them feed us now, so one day we may return, kill the emperor and those clans, and create our utopia. Then the people will know our worth!”

Hearing such twisted logic, Zhang Chi pointed at the man and retorted, “And you have the gall to call others short-sighted? If anyone here lacks vision, it’s you, you scoundrel!”

The man gripped his blade and sneered, “Why don’t you enlighten us, then? Out of respect for our shared faith, if your argument convinces me, I’ll let this go. If not, I’ll cut you down for sowing discord!”

“Very well, let me give you a lesson today.” Zhang Chi turned to the gathered followers, who all fixed their eyes on him.

Clearing his throat, Zhang Chi spoke out, “You talk of building a utopia where the old are cared for and the young protected, but words are cheap—actions matter! What have you done? You attacked Jiankang and Shanyin, but only to rob and plunder for yourselves. The people suffer—when have you ever done them a kindness? You speak of caring for the old and young, but where are your own wives, children, elders?”

This struck a sore spot. The Way of Five Pecks of Rice revered the water god, and because they had roamed for years, their leader had long ago decreed that the old, the sick, and the young be abandoned to the wild. Many among them had personally drowned their own kin in ancient wells, performing rituals as if sending them to the immortal realms.

If you can abandon your own flesh and blood so cruelly, what right have you to speak of caring for all people?

“The heavens are merciless, and how much have our people suffered? The Five Barbarian tribes ravage the north, slaughtering our countrymen in countless numbers. The central plains are strewn with corpses, families torn apart. What land remains to us Han, but a sliver squeezed by the sea to the east and the Yangtze to the north—a mere speck!”

Zhang Chi’s anger rose with his words. “A family destroys itself before others can destroy it; a country wounds itself before others do! If we Han eat our own, is it any wonder the barbarians do the same? In the end, who among us will be left to build your so-called utopia?”

Tales of barbarian cannibalism south of the Yangtze were well known, and now, as Zhang Chi spoke, most faces in the crowd filled with guilt.

“Enemies without, traitors within—look at us now. The people’s hearts are estranged, war is everywhere, our people die unburied, the living are parted from their kin. Now you add to their torment. The Buddhists say, ‘If I do not descend into hell, who will?’ Whether they practice what they preach is another matter, but at least they speak of compassion for the world. And you? You send others to hell so you may survive—what nonsense is this about carrying out Heaven’s will? In my eyes, you use Heaven’s name to justify the ways of wolves and tigers!”

Zhang Chi’s words rang out with force. Most of the followers around him were deeply ashamed. Though he had finished speaking, a long, heavy silence settled over the crowd; not a single person dared respond.

After a while, the only sounds were the muffled sobs of the women still bound to the trees.