Refugees dragged their children, supported their elderly, and stumbled along the banks of the Han River toward Wuchang.
Behind them lay villages reduced to ash and trampled fields flattened beneath marauding hooves. Even county seats, once symbols of minor stability, had become traps waiting to be overrun. For ordinary people who possessed neither soldiers nor walls, the only direction left was toward something larger, something with battlements and gates and the illusion of protection.
Wuchang.
In ordinary times, the sight of a massive flotilla on the river would have drawn crowds to the shore. Children would point. Men would speculate about cargo. Women would shade their eyes and gossip about merchants and officials.
But these were not ordinary times.
These people did not look up.
They walked with their heads lowered, faces gray with exhaustion, expressions carved from resignation. A fleet meant nothing if one's stomach was empty and one's house was smoke.
Then something unusual happened.
Several smaller boats detached themselves from the main convoy and angled toward the bank. Oars dipped. Water rippled outward. A voice carried over the river.
"My friends! If you flee to Wuchang like this, will there be food waiting for you?"
Most did not respond. Who had energy left for idle shouting?
But a few bolder refugees called back hoarsely, "The fields were destroyed! The houses burned! We have nothing. We can only beg in Wuchang."
A sigh drifted from the boat.
"So there is truly nothing left…"
There was a brief pause, and then the tone shifted, brightened deliberately.
"Come collect relief grain! We cannot give much today. Ten catties per person to help you through a few days. More will follow later!"
The refugees froze.
It was as if someone had uttered a spell.
Heads turned slowly, stiffly, disbelief written plainly across hollow faces.
Then they saw it.
A man on the boat lifted a full sack of grain and shook it for emphasis.
"Form lines along the riverbank! One line per boat! Quickly!"
What happened next would have impressed any drill instructor in the empire.
The refugees erupted into motion.
There was no training, no command structure, no discipline beyond desperation. For a moment chaos reigned, people jostling and shouting, clutching children and bundles. Yet hunger is a powerful organizer. Within minutes, more than a dozen uneven lines had formed, each facing a boat that had pulled up against the shore.
On the boats, the quartermasters exchanged looks and sighed in relief.
Distribution began.
And then something entirely unexpected occurred.
Zhu Cunji leapt from one of the boats and personally began handing out grain on the riverbank, sleeves rolled up, expression radiant as though he had discovered his true calling.
Each time he handed over a sack, he asked with disarming directness, "Well? What do you think of me?"
The refugees, clutching grain like treasure, invariably replied, "Benefactor! You are the finest person in the world!"
Zhu Cunji beamed.
"Hahaha! I like you!"
He patted shoulders with reckless enthusiasm, nearly causing one old man to stagger backward under the combined weight of rice and princely affection.
On the boat nearby, Zhu Yujian wiped sweat from his brow.
"Is the heir to the Prince of Qin always like this?" he asked quietly.
Zhuge Wangchan leaned closer and whispered, "He has a chronic need to be admired."
Zhu Yujian fell silent for a moment, then said softly, almost to himself, "When I raised troops to aid the Emperor, was I not the same? I wished to save the Great Ming, yes… but I also wished for people to say that imperial kinsmen are not merely pigs in gilded pens. I wanted them to say, 'Zhu Yujian is wise and valiant.'"
Zhuge Wangchan opened his mouth, then closed it.
There were some reflections best left undisturbed.
Just then, chaos erupted at the back of the refugee lines.
Shouts rang out.
"Zhang Xianzhong's men are here!"
"The bandits!"
"Run!"
The carefully formed lines disintegrated instantly. Grain sacks dropped. Children screamed. People scattered in blind panic.
One refugee who had just received grain from Zhu Cunji bolted before the prince could finish asking his customary question. Zhu Cunji stood there mid-sentence.
"What do you think of—"
Gone.
"Damn it!" he roared. "Who dares interfere with my act of… cough… benevolence?"
Zhu Yujian's voice was tight. "The bandit cavalry has arrived."
That sobered him immediately.
In the distance, a small troop of horsemen appeared, riding hard along the bank. They were not a large force, but cavalry did not need numbers when facing exhausted peasants.
Zhu Yujian frowned. "They are fast. If the refugees scatter, they will be cut down."
The Gao Family Village quartermasters reached the same conclusion in less time than it took to say it.
"Do not run!" they shouted toward the crowd. "Move toward the river! The closer you are to the water, the safer you will be!"
Authority had already been established through grain.
People obeyed.
Instead of fleeing inland, refugees pressed themselves toward the riverbank in a trembling mass, bodies packed tightly together.
Meanwhile, the larger boats that had remained midstream began angling toward shore. The quartermasters reached beneath the grain baskets.
Out came firearms.
The bandit cavalry thundered closer.
"Get down!" the soldiers roared. "All of you, get down!"
The refugees did not understand, but instinct overrode confusion. They crouched low, covering their heads.
Then came the thunder.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunfire shattered the air in relentless succession.
The charging horsemen faltered. One rider toppled backward from the saddle. Another's horse reared violently before collapsing sideways. Dust and screams mingled with smoke.
The bandit troop had not expected armed resistance.
Seeing several of their own fall in rapid succession, they abandoned the charge and wheeled around, retreating as swiftly as they had appeared.
Silence followed, broken only by the crackle of dissipating smoke and the distant drumming of retreating hooves.
Slowly, cautiously, the refugees lifted their heads.
They looked at one another.
They looked at the river.
Then cheers erupted.
"Our benefactors are mighty!"
"Where are you soldiers from?"
"Are you Shaanxi troops?"
"You are not government soldiers, are you? How can you be so formidable?"
The questions overlapped in noisy waves.
The quartermasters restored order and resumed distribution.
"We are the Gao Family Village Militia," they said while handing out grain. "Once you receive your portion, proceed directly to Wuchang and remain within the city. We will transport additional grain there by ship. Do not wander aimlessly."
The refugees nodded fervently.
Ten catties per person were distributed in full.
When the fleet began moving again, something unexpected happened.
The refugees ran alongside the riverbank.
They had realized something simple and profound: if they stayed near this fleet, the bandits would not dare approach easily.
They were not far from Wuchang now, so Zhuge Wangchan ordered the ships to reduce speed. Oars slowed. Sails adjusted.
Thus, water and land advanced together.
In the middle of the river, a great fleet.
On the banks, a vast human tide.
Both moving toward Wuchang.
Inside the city, tension coiled tightly.
Government troops under the Wuchang Prefect manned the walls. Armor glinted beneath a gray sky. Supplies were hauled upward in haste. Civilians who once muttered curses at officials now worked frantically beside them, carrying stones, hauling arrows, reinforcing gates.
When a truly savage enemy approaches, grievances become luxuries.
Prince of Chu, Zhu Huakui, sixty-five years old and long accustomed to authority, stood atop the city wall with his Princely Guards. His once-sharp eyes were now clouded with age, yet fear had sharpened them.
"Where is the Huguang Provincial Governor?" he demanded sharply of the Prefect beside him. "Why has he not brought troops to assist?"
The Wuchang Prefect kept his expression carefully neutral.
Inwardly, he thought: You once had a Huguang Governor beaten to death. The entire realm knows. Which successor would rush eagerly to your rescue? They would sooner pray the bandits solve their problem for them.
But such thoughts were not for spoken air.
He bowed slightly.
"The Provincial Governor led his troops to aid the Emperor and has not yet returned."
Zhu Huakui's jaw tightened.
Beyond the walls, somewhere in the distance, Zhang Xianzhong was coming.
And from the river, so was something else.