Three Kingdoms: A Million Soldiers Grown from the Fields

Chapter 205 The Path

Taihang Mountains.

On Jingxing Road, the winding crowds resembled a slowly writhing giant python.

The cold wind, carrying a few snowflakes, was like countless icy knives, mercilessly cutting into every exposed inch of skin.

In the silent migrating procession, only heavy breathing and the crunching sound of snow being trampled underfoot could be heard.

Zhang Ning was wrapped in a gray winter coat, which was the Bingzhou winter coat he received yesterday after passing through Jingxing Pass and entering this path.

The winter coat had a hood on the back of the collar, which she had pulled down low, obscuring her pale face.

She walked silently in the middle of the group, with Zhang Bailu beside her, who was also dressed in similar winter clothes.

The snow beneath my feet was thick, and I sank deep with every step. The biting cold still seeped through my shoes, but my torso still felt a little warm.

"Young lady," Zhang Bailu said in a low voice, with a hint of surprise, "this garment... what's inside? It's even warmer than a fur coat?"

Zhang Ning shook her head; she didn't know either.

In Guangzong, let alone such warm clothing, even owning a complete piece of rag is a luxury.

All she remembered was that after they passed through the checkpoint, the Bingzhou military officers in dark uniforms methodically opened bundles of huge packages and took out pieces of clothing to distribute.

She subconsciously touched the thick stitches on the cuff and the fine, tough lining inside; it didn't seem like a hastily made, shoddy item.

The team made its way forward with difficulty, and every thirty or forty li along the long route, flags marked with the character "驿" (post station) could be seen fluttering in the wind.

Some of these post stations were open to them, while others remained closed.

The open post stations would prepare thin porridge for them. Although it was just bland soup with only some white liquid and no rice, it was enough to fill the stomachs of these Yellow Turban refugees who traveled in groups of hundreds or thousands.

There was no other way. It wasn't that Zhang Xian didn't want to give them a good meal, but they had been starving for too long in Guangzong, and suddenly increasing their food intake would only make them die faster.

Therefore, he ordered that the post stations along the route be opened one at a time and closed the other, providing only rice water to the passing refugees to fill their stomachs.

This would gradually restore the digestive systems of the Yellow Turban refugees and reduce the pressure on the post stations along the route.

They were released in batches of hundreds and thousands, and the Yellow Turban refugees traveled along the path for some time.

Fortunately, the roads along the way were surprisingly flat, without any of the difficult terrain that I had previously imagined.

They were unsure of Zhang Xian's level of emphasis on infrastructure, but hadn't the Taihang Mountain project, which had consumed a massive amount of resources from Luqi County and Taiyuan Prefecture, now fulfilled its intended purpose?
Following the post station banner westward, the journey was sometimes winding and sometimes filled with wind and snow, but fortunately the refugees persevered and the supply of materials to Bingzhou was maintained.

The Yellow Turban refugees passed by the supply wagons from Bingzhou without exchanging words, but they all tacitly agreed not to disturb each other.

During this period, neither the supply train nor the refugees had met for the first time.

After the supply train passed, the sound of hooves began to pick up again, and a full cavalry unit brushed past the refugee caravan.

Zhao Yun led the way, looking travel-worn, followed by about 1,500 mobile cavalrymen.

He looked at the line of refugees and silently pulled out two small flags from behind him.

A small red flag represents accelerating forward.

The other small flag is cyan, representing tightening the formation, with several columns being combined into one column.

The troops quickly tightened their formation, pressing close to one side of the path.

The two different teams, one on the left and one on the right, each heading in a different direction, remained perfectly aligned and did not interfere with each other.

As the migrant caravan ventured deeper into the area, the vast Weize Pass was already bustling with activity.

Dozens of huge iron pots were lined up along the wall, with firewood roaring in the stoves and white steam rising into the sky!
The rich aroma of millet porridge, with its caramelized grains and spicy ginger soup, dispelled the biting cold wind and filled the nostrils of every hungry person!

Inside the wall, in the sheltered area, a long stretch of shacks had been erected! The roofs of the shacks were covered with thick thatch and tarpaulin, standing firm in the wind and snow.

Standing on the wall, Zhao Hu shouted loudly at the line of refugees.

"Enter the pass! Get your porridge! Get your ginger soup! And everyone get a multigrain pancake!"

Rough shouts echoed through the wind and snow, carrying the familiar accent of the people of Jizhou.

Having experienced the order of the path and the warmth of the cotton-padded clothes, the refugees naturally obeyed the orders.

The elderly, women, and children were given priority to be led into those huge shacks, where the wind and snow were shielded and the biting cold on their bodies was quickly dispelled.

Zhang Ning followed the crowd into a shack.

The alternation between hot and cold made her shiver involuntarily, and her stiff body seemed to begin to revive.

She held two hot ceramic bowls, filled with thick millet porridge and ginger soup.

There was also a palm-sized multigrain pancake on the side of the porridge bowl.

She sipped the piping hot porridge, the warm liquid sliding down her esophagus with a feeling of unparalleled comfort.

My numb tongue tasted the long-lost flavor of grains, along with a faint hint of saltiness.

She looked up and saw the shack packed full of people, who were wolfing down their food from the same coarse bowls.

Many people silently shed tears as they ate, swallowing them down along with the hot porridge.

There was no loud wailing, only a kind of sobbing that came from the brink of death and disbelief.

The thatched roof rustled in the wind and snow, but it couldn't drown out the overflowing happiness emanating from the roof. "This flatbread...does it contain bean flour and salt?"

A pale and thin old woman next to her carefully broke off a small piece of cake and put it in her mouth, her cloudy eyes showing surprise.

"This old woman hasn't tasted anything this exquisite in years..."

fine?

Zhang Ning looked at the rough flatbread in his hand. It was indeed exquisite. In Guangzong, this was a delicacy that one could only dream of.

After they had eaten and drunk their fill, the sight inside Weize Pass shocked Zhang Ning and the group of Yellow Turban refugees.

Behind the wall, on the wide open ground, countless huge and strangely shaped wooden machines were operating in the wind and snow!

That's a water-powered spinning wheel, driven by the drop in elevation of a mountain stream! The enormous spinning wheel drives countless spindles to spin rapidly!
Further away, the looms were clattering away! Countless women from Weizeguan Village, and even some teenagers, were wearing thick cotton-padded clothes and fingerless gloves, skillfully operating these machines under the work shed.

The air was filled with the slightly fishy smell of wool, as well as the fresh scent of newly washed fabric.

Winter clothing from Taiyuan has almost all been transported to Jingxing Road, but it is still not enough for the hundreds of thousands of Yellow Turban refugees. Fortunately, there is plenty of wool in Qiangyin and Xihe, so the workshops in Taiyuan are operating at full capacity to speed up production. At the same time, wool and cotton are being transferred to Weize Pass for simultaneous production and distribution nearby.

"Quick! We're running out of wool on spinning wheel number three!"

"Is the coarse yarn from the East Head Weaving Workshop ready yet?!"

"Laundry shop! Quickly soak and rinse this batch of combed fine wool!"

Loud, boisterous shouts rose and fell.

Bundles of raw wool, still bearing the scent of the grassland winds and frost, were transported by oxcarts and thrown into a washing pool filled with boiling hot water and wood ash solution.

After being combed and cleaned to remove impurities, the wool is dried and sent to the spinning workshop, where it is turned into yarn of different thicknesses on the spinning spindles.

The coarse, stiff yarn was fed into another area, stretched taut on a huge wooden frame, and quickly woven into thick felt by women wielding long needles.

The relatively soft and fine yarn was sent to the weaving workshop, where it was turned into thick, slightly rough, but absolutely warm woolen fabrics on the clattering looms!
On the other side of the workshop, there was a mountain of white fluff that had not yet been completely threshed.

The cotton was poured into a huge wooden box.

Women and children sat around, using a hand-cranked cotton gin to separate the cotton seeds and then fluff the cotton.

The fluffed cotton was then evenly layered into the pre-cut coarse linen lining, and skillful women sewed it into bulky yet warm cotton-padded clothes, trousers, and quilts!

"Heaven above... what... what are all these things?"

Zhang Bailu was dumbfounded; he had never seen such a large-scale and efficient production scene.

Those spinning spinning wheels and clattering looms possess a unique beauty!

A middle-aged man wearing a dark clerk's uniform, with cotton lint stuck to his cuffs, was loudly directing the loading of cotton-padded clothes onto a truck.

Zhang Bailu couldn't help but lean forward, picking up a cotton ball attached to the corner of his clothes and asking, "Sir, what exactly is this? How can it keep you so warm?"

The clerk wiped the snow off his face, glanced at Zhang Bailu, and said calmly, "This is called white cotton, also known as cotton! It's a rare item that our magistrate brought from the Western Regions a few years ago! It's cold-resistant and drought-resistant. Last year, we tried planting it in many places in Bingzhou, and the harvest was quite good! Plus, we got wool from the grasslands north of Bingzhou... It's thanks to these things that we were able to produce so much stuff for you to keep warm!"

He patted a stack of newly sewn thick cotton trousers next to him, pulled out a pair, and tossed it to Zhang Bailu: "Take this and put it on! There's a long road ahead, young people can always find a way to survive in Bingzhou!"

Zhang Ning silently observed everything before her.

What I see before me is completely different from Guangzong, and vastly different from the former Jizhou.

'Father, Bingzhou is truly different.'

Just as they were reminiscing, a fast horse came from the other side of the pass.

"Chief Secretary Han has given the order!"

The messenger on horseback spoke in a hoarse but loud voice: "A batch of cotton-padded clothes and felt blankets are about to arrive at Baijing Fort! All warehouse officials, prepare to receive, count, and distribute them!"

"promise!"

Responding shouts echoed throughout Guanzhong.

Zhang Ning's heart was filled with a complex emotion.

There was shock, and also sorrow. The peace that my father pursued all his life was perhaps not some ethereal heaven, but right before my eyes.

A few more days.

When the migrating caravan finally emerged from the Taihang Mountain pass, a breathtaking view opened up before them.

Although the earth was already covered in a blanket of snow, the terrain was noticeably more open.

Solid official roads stretched out in all directions.

The roadsides are no longer barren fields.

Instead, there were large, neatly planned fields, covered with thick snow, but the outlines of the field ridges and ditches were still clearly visible.

Further away, a fortress surrounded by tall rammed earth walls can be vaguely seen, with wisps of smoke rising and leaving warm traces in the gray sky.

We've arrived at Baijingbao!
The refugees officially set foot on the land of Bingzhou.

(End of this chapter)