Chapter 76: Chinese Do Not Eat Their Own (Part One)

“The imperial army has already broken through the North Gate and entered the city. If we don’t leave, what else can we do?” the woman said with a faint smile.

“Then where do we go once we’re outside the city?” Since leaving was inevitable, Santong needed to make some preparations for what would come afterwards.

The woman sighed. “This attempt to seize Shanyin has failed. I’m afraid there’s no longer any foothold for the Daoist sects in the southeast. As for where we can escape to now, even I do not know.”

Santong was somewhat surprised. Though not quick-witted, he could tell that this woman held a high position within the Five Pecks of Rice Daoists. Yet even she did not know where they were going next—this alone spoke to the sect’s enigmatic ways.

…

Time was pressing; the imperial army was already in the city, and would reach the east in the blink of an eye. The Five Pecks of Rice Daoists dared not linger. They hurriedly gathered what people they could—barely ten thousand—and Yan Yicao could only sigh helplessly. He turned to Sun Tai and said, “Master, most of our followers have already scattered. It’s too late to gather them again. What should we do? Please, Master, make a decision.”

Indeed, though the Five Pecks of Rice Daoists had entered the city with over a hundred thousand, the tumult over the Saintess had already dispersed their hearts. Now, with imperial troops flooding in, chaos reigned and who would remain steadfast? Gathering ten thousand was already a feat. Sun Tai understood this well. If they did not leave now, once the imperial army arrived, escape would be impossible.

A true man knows when to take up arms and when to lay them down. Sun Tai only paused for a moment before deciding resolutely, “We leave the city and head for the Eastern Sea.”

Shanyin lay close to the sea; hearing Sun Tai’s command, Yan Yicao immediately guessed his intention. It was not hard to deduce: the Five Pecks of Rice Daoists were a motley band of refugees. In the past, the imperial court had tolerated them, but now the army had come to annihilate. The Daoists had no city to defend; in direct battle with the imperial elite, they would be utterly defeated.

Better, then, to take to the sea, find a small island as a base, and from there strike back at will—advancing and retreating freely. The imperial court might have numbers, but what could they truly do?

Santong and the woman rode together, swept along with the tide of Daoists out of the city. Santong had wanted to leave some secret sign for Zhang Chi, but he lacked Dao Xuan’s skills and could not evade the Daoist followers to do anything. Riding with the woman, he had no opportunity.

Although Santong was happy to see the woman again, thinking of Zhang Chi’s anxiety made him uneasy. Yet there was nothing to be done. He looked back at Shanyin, uncertain and lost.

Seeing him glance back again and again, the woman sighed as well. “Shanyin is so prosperous—who wouldn’t regret leaving? Even I can hardly bear to go.”

Santong understood. The Five Pecks of Rice Daoists usually lived deep in the mountains—their sacred ground was in Mount Kuaiji. One could imagine their way of life. Now, entering Shanyin, with its plenty and abundance, it was hard to leave it all behind.

Thinking of provisions, Santong grew more perplexed. The sect was fleeing in haste, barely able to organize their people, let alone manage their supplies. What would they eat on the run?

While Santong was pondering this, the group had already traveled several miles beyond the city. Suddenly, a group drew a luxurious horse-drawn carriage out from a hidden spot among the trees—it was identical to the one that the Wine Maiden had used when entering the city.

Seeing how carefully they moved the carriage, Santong asked curiously, “What’s in that carriage?”

“It carries the family of Master Sun Tai, the leader of the Heavenly Masters’ Dao,” the woman answered with a smile. “He treasures his family dearly. But they never entered the city—clearly, he had planned for a retreat from the very beginning.”

How could Sun Tai’s family have been carried? Did they not have legs of their own? Santong wondered. A few more miles on, another identical carriage was brought from hiding. Santong was even more puzzled. “So what’s in this one? And why are all the carriages the same?”

“This one is empty,” the woman replied, smiling. “It’s just a ruse to fool ordinary followers. There are three such carriages in all. When the Saintess first arrived in Shanyin, the plan was set: along the road to the Thunder Gate, one carriage was hidden at a distance, one midway, and one near the city. The procession would begin with the distant carriage, letting the followers see it, then it would be hidden and the next brought out, and so on. By the time the real carriage with the Saintess passed, it seemed to the ordinary believers as though she had traversed the ground in an instant—a supernatural feat.”

Suddenly, Santong understood. So this was how the Five Pecks of Rice Daoists tricked their followers—Sun Tai was indeed clever.

Sure enough, after the last carriage was brought out, they simply unharnessed the horses and led them away, leaving the carriage behind. The Daoists had few horses; most of the priests traveled on foot, so they could not afford to abandon even two draft horses.

With the imperial army sure to pursue them once Shanyin was secured, Sun Tai and his followers dared not delay. They hurried on for several hours. Most had not eaten since entering the city, and were famished. A priest rode up to Yan Yicao and reported, “Great Priest, we left Shanyin in haste without provisions. Our people are exhausted. If we don’t find something to eat, we’ll be finished before the imperial army even catches up.”

This was indeed a serious problem. The few horses they had might provide some meat, but not for ten thousand mouths. Yan Yicao brooded darkly for a while, then pointed towards a distant village and commanded, “Let the people rest here. Organize a party to raid the village.”

“But the common folk are already in dire straits—most have nothing to eat themselves. Even if we raid them, there may be nothing to take,” the priest protested.

“Who said we’re after grain?” Yan Yicao’s voice was cold as ice.

“Then what are we to take?”

“We’ll take people—to eat!”

The priest was aghast. It was not as if the Daoists had never resorted to cannibalism, but in the past, their victims had always been the gentry and nobles. The sect was made up of desperate refugees, their hatred for the powerful ran deep—it was vengeance to eat their flesh and drink their blood. But never before had they preyed upon commoners. The priest cried out, “How can this be allowed?”

“Why not?” Yan Yicao replied flatly. “In these chaotic times, commoners swap their own children to survive. If we wish to live, we must use any means necessary. Only if we survive can we hope to build a world of true equality in the future.”

The priest tried to protest, but Yan Yicao’s patience had run out. “Go now! Or do you wish to be the first to fill the bellies of the Heavenly Masters’ followers today?”

That terrified the priest—he was suddenly reminded of Cao Cao’s infamous words: “Better that I devour the people of the world, than let the people devour me.” With that, he dared not speak further, hastily saluted, and went to spread the orders and organize the raid. Yan Yicao was known for his ruthlessness—if the priest hesitated, he might indeed end up as supper himself.