Chapter 82

In the Zhongsu Gorge, more than a hundred miles away from Zhenyang, the boats that had been detained were already piled up on the water. Some of the soldiers who had launched a rebellion had already begun to board the boats and move downstream in organized units.

Other rebels were moving upstream along the river, planning to seize the strategic water and land pass at Zhenyang Gorge.

In Lianzhou, the old city of Lianshan County, not far south of Qingyuan Town, it also became another victim of the Qingyuan mutiny.

Chen Zihé, a Yunjiwei and commander of the Shanqian Regiment, walked down the street with a bitter taste in his mouth, watching his comrades, who had easily changed their identities, temporarily becoming bandits and soldiers, systematically interrogate and plunder officials, wealthy families, and the elite.

Even the sight of those who were once high and mighty, crying and begging for mercy, and the large baskets of money and bolts of silk being carried out of their homes and warehouses, brought him no sense of satisfaction or relief.

But he was powerless to change anything, and could only be swept up in the tide of events, despairingly allowing things to spiral out of control. They opened one treasury after another, or forced the high-ranking officials to reveal more hidden wealth, and then cheered at the sight of their bountiful loot.

They drank from large bowls, ate meat in large chunks, and their loud clamor turned the county city into a place of both tears and laughter.

Only when he saw the jubilant soldiers reaching out to the women of good appearance did he intervene and rebuke them, as a last stand of principle and底线 (底线 means "bottom line" or "limit").

This was a feast of revelry, but also a feast of despair with no future. Even though long-term peace and prosperity had made the bureaucracy of Guangzhou somewhat numb and sluggish,

this rebellion on the outskirts of Guangzhou would eventually become a deep and personal pain for them. Under the common threat to their own interests and properties, they would put aside their disputes and grudges, and display an astonishing level of dedication and efficiency.

Then would come the encirclement and suppression by the land and naval forces. The best outcome they could foresee was that the officers and non-commissioned officers would be executed for treason, and the remaining soldiers, whether coerced or not, would be sent to work in the mines on remote islands, laboring in the dark until their last breath.

The Second Regiment of the Qingyuan Army, though only a second-line unit named after a place, had a prestigious predecessor, a force that was once a prominent player in the era. However, every era has its end, and the tumultuous events of the past have gradually faded into the annals of history.

When it reappeared in the public eye, it was as a rebel force.

This was a large regiment, numbering in the thousands, with its affiliated families and clans doubling that number. However, it only had a quota of two thousand men, and even that was not fully met. Additionally, within the Qingyuan Army, the pay was delayed by two to three months based on the hierarchy of relationships.

Therefore, many of the soldiers in the Second Regiment had to find other means of livelihood locally. Qingyuan, being a key waterway of the Dongjiang, offered plenty of opportunities for those willing to work hard. The military commanders could only turn a blind eye, as this was a place for the disgraced and the unlucky, as well as the unpopular advocates of the Northern Campaign, who were exiled here in droves.

Apart from the dragon-patterned flags that were brought out to dry each year due to the moldy rain, who could have thought that this local regiment was once a renowned and formidable force during the Yongjia Campaign.

They were once the imperial dragon guards and palace guards of Emperor Zhengding, unlike the current imperial dragon guards and palace guards in the Xiaozheng Palace of the Xiaozheng Prefecture, which were filled with the sons of the aristocracy and the gentry, who were there for the prestige.

They once represented the elite of the passionate and young heroes from both the north and the south, and were the terrifying demons and asuras on the battlefield, sweeping across the Yangtze and the Yellow River, parading on the Zhuque Street of the Western Capital, and planting their battle flags on the Chengtian Gate of the imperial city, making the allied forces dare not face them.

They fought to the death in the great destruction of the Western Army's eastward advance, bearing the legacy of Emperor Zhengding, protecting the last of the Northern Campaign's elite, and fleeing back to the remnants of the Southern Dynasty.

After the first generation received rewards and titles, they began to disintegrate. After all, they were the imperial dragon guards and palace guards of Emperor Zhengding, not the same Liang clan as the ruling Liang clan of the Southern Sea.

However, as a returning elite force, they still received due attention in the early days of the Southern Dynasty. For example, although they lost their former military designation, they were still assigned to the front-line units targeting the north.

For example, they were once part of the naval forces accompanying the fleet, participating in multiple inland campaigns, achieving great military honors and widespread fame.

However, with the conservative shift in the new administration, they were once again marginalized. Their garrison and defense zones were rotated among the five military commands, gradually losing their identity.

After several such cycles, during the Changtai period, they finally caught the attention of a pro-war chief of the Military Council. They received a large number of weapons and armor, and were reinforced with many northerners who had defected to the south, expanding into a new army, the Yongxing Army.

However, just as they were deployed outside the mountains, the Southern Dynasty underwent another power transition. The pro-war chief of the Military Council had to resign and died in exile, and the newly formed army, having lost its defense zone, had to seek other means of survival.

Thus, they were split and repeatedly downsized, eventually becoming a subordinate unit of a second-tier regiment, stationed in the peripheral regions of Guangzhou. Of course, from the perspective of the victorious political rivals, this was a form of leniency and grace.

Although they were stationed in a prosperous area along the river, close to the capital region of Guangzhou, it was also a form of covert suppression and erosion, using the decadent and luxurious life of the city to undermine the remaining traditions of this veteran force.

However, this barely sustainable daily life did not last long. A few days ago, it was said that a captain from the Second Regiment attempted to seize the emperor during a routine inspection, intending to kidnap him.

Then came the rumors of a major purge and collective exile.

Their world collapsed. After the news spread, almost everyone spontaneously gathered at the parade ground, except for the disheartened old commanders.

Then, the military governor, who was widely despised, arrived with a small contingent of his personal guards to suppress the situation, and things naturally escalated.

After they took action, due to the governor's "well-deserved" reputation, most of the commanders of the other three regiments were either defeated or captured, and their soldiers, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, joined the rebellion, which grew like a snowball.

In fact, Chen Zihé knew this commander. His name was Zhong Jueqian, a close family friend from the previous generation, and one of the few Second Regiment descendants who had successfully entered the military academy of Guangzhou. At a young age, he had achieved the rank of captain with excellent performance, entering the ranks of the regular officers, and was once highly regarded.

As a selected representative for the inspection, he had privately expressed his intention to write a blood letter to the emperor and the government, to move them to change the deteriorating situation.

However, his radical approach clearly failed to break through the tightly woven web of power and protection, and instead severely offended the dignity and face of certain high-ranking officials in the Ministry of War, the Military Council, and the General Office.

He was imprisoned, interrogated, and charged with various crimes, and the investigation for his accomplices and instigators followed, using all imaginable means under the orders of the higher-ups.

A notice was blown onto Chen Zihé's head on a deserted street, interrupting his thoughts and melancholy. He tore it off, only to find it was a notice to the citizens, soliciting donations to support the army.

Looking at the large characters on the paper, he suddenly found them glaring, and crumpled it up, further solidifying his resolve.

The Southern Dynasty imposed heavy taxes with numerous categories. At its peak, even the growth of branches on trees and the addition of tiles to roofs were taxed, leading to a joke during the Jingming period when a drought hit Guangzhou and an imperial censor, Xu Wen, said to the emperor, "No rain falls, for fear of the heavy taxes."

Among the taxes, the most persistent and substantial was the restoration tax, or the northern tax, which had been levied since the founding of the Southern Dynasty, initially covering the Yangtze and Yellow River regions. Although the scope has changed over the generations, the total amount has only increased.

The most enthusiastic contributors were undoubtedly the northerners who had defected to the south and their descendants. However, despite generations of contributions, the restoration of the Central Plains remained an unattainable dream. Some lost hope, some gave up, and some retreated to the overseas territories to start anew.

Only the stubborn souls who remained, either dispatched or gathered around this northerner-dominated military unit, had a sense of solidarity, but they also risked offending certain high-ranking officials.

So, in a sense, their only hope lay in Guangzhou. Only by entering Guangzhou together might their fate change, even if it was a faint glimmer of hope.

After absorbing a large number of poor people and many northerners who were frustrated at the bottom of society, the force under his command had grown to at least half an army, though the quality was mixed.

At this moment, a personal attendant brought him a message. It was from a family that had once shown his father kindness, and he had no reason to refuse it.

A short while later, he sat in a temporary reception room in a tavern, looking at the calm and composed figure before him with disgust, as if they were in a refined and elegant club rather than in the midst of a chaotic and noisy rebel army.

After hearing the purpose of the message, his first reaction was one of absurdity. Even in the midst of a crisis, they were still thinking about factional struggles and underhanded tactics.

His second reaction was one of sorrow. After all our struggles, are we still to be used as cannon fodder and pawns by such people?