Chapter Seven: Collective Sense of Honor

The local gentry exchanged glances and nodded in silent agreement. Chen Ying’s words made sense; in truth, the Western Qin army had behaved abominably. Back when Jingyang fell, it was largely because of its proximity to Chang’an and the lack of preparation—the Western Qin forces simply poured in. In theory, for a city taken with so little resistance, even if the conquerors extorted donations of grain and money, the leading families would have endured it, holding their noses.

But who could have predicted that the Western Qin soldiers would embark on a massacre? In less than an hour, hundreds were slaughtered in Jingyang. Had Chen Ying not struck at the heart and captured their leader, the entire city might have been wiped out—indeed, history records that Jingyang was once sacked by Western Qin, leaving almost no survivors.

Chen Ying looked around at the assembled men and declared, “An emperor does not begrudge a soldier his food. Even if we muster a militia, the rations and pay for these fifteen hundred men must come from donations by each household.”

At this, even Qin Gu, Chen Ying’s staunchest supporter, fell silent in contemplation.

Though they were all in the same boat, sustaining a militia wasn’t the issue—it was how and with what resources that posed the real problem.

Chen Ying, despite lacking political experience, had read enough officialdom novels to grasp the essence of bureaucracy: mutual benefit. Only with win-win solutions can one navigate such waters with ease.

If you want the horse to run, you must feed it well.

He himself was a man without rank or office, unable to provide the necessary “feed.” But as a man of later generations, Chen Ying was well-versed in painting grand prospects.

“There’s no need for undue concern,” he continued. “Jingyang is less than eighty li from Chang’an—news will reach the capital within a day. The Tang court will not stand by as Jingyang falls; reinforcements may already be on the way. At the slowest, they’ll arrive in three days. Calculating for three days at most, with each man needing three jin of grain daily, that’s just over a hundred shi of grain. For your dozen-odd families, that’s only a little more than ten shi per day. Surely you’re not telling me you can’t provide even that?”

Qin Gu replied, “Master Chen, you may not know this, but though the Qin family is one of the great houses of Jingyang, we have many mouths to feed. With more than a month until the autumn harvest, even the landowners have no surplus grain…”

“I see,” Chen Ying mused. “That’s a pity. The Tang court has just suffered defeat, their ranks sorely depleted. If we form a militia now, it’s certain the court will eventually absorb us into the regular army. Right now, positions such as company commander, battalion chief, or deputy officer may seem worthless, but when the court integrates the Jingyang militia, even if they dismiss the old and weak and demote some, a regular seventh-rank captain, a deputy captain, eighth-rank battalion chiefs—all these positions will be valuable. I’m planning to assign these officer roles to the sons of those who contribute the most.”

At this, the eyes of the assembled gentry lit up.

In the Tang dynasty, martial ranks were far more prized than civil posts; this was not like the later Ming or Qing, where a seventh-rank magistrate could berate a second-rank general without consequence. As Chen Ying noted, after the court’s recent defeat and desperate shortage of troops, organizing a militia under the pretense of defending home and land would guarantee absorption into the regular forces. Even if a third of the old or weak were let go, at least five seventh-rank captains, five deputy captains, and ten eighth-rank officers would be retained.

For great aristocratic clans, such low ranks might be beneath notice—but in Jingyang, there were no true aristocratic lineages, only wealthy country squires. Their sons could not aspire to office without noble recommendation, but with Chen Ying’s scheme, their children would find a new path.

“Treat others with respect, and they will return it in kind.” This was Chen Ying’s guiding principle. He cast a meaningful glance at Qin Gu.

If, after more than fifty years, Qin Gu failed to understand Chen Ying’s intentions, he might as well have lived his life in vain.

Qin Gu rose and said, “I may be unworthy, but no man is made of wood or stone—who can be unmoved? As a member of Jingyang’s gentry, how could I stand by while my fellow townsmen suffer? Even if it means risking ruin, I will defend Jingyang. A mere hundred shi of grain, the Qin family can provide. I have five sons; the youngest is still a child, but the other four are grown. They will gladly serve to defend our homeland.”

Hearing this, Chen Ying thought to himself, “He’s got the right idea!”

“On behalf of Jingyang’s people, I thank you for your virtue, Master Qin,” Chen Ying said. “Have your sons report to the camp in half an hour. The militia needs men of such spirit. As Inspector-General of Jingyang, I hereby appoint—may I ask for your sons’ names?”

Qin Gu answered, “The eldest is Zhi, second Ming, third Yong, fourth Ren.”

“Then as Inspector-General, I appoint Qin Zhi as commander of the First Regiment’s First Battalion, Qin Ming as commander of the Second Regiment’s Third Battalion, Qin Yong as commander of the Third Regiment’s Fourth Battalion, and Qin Ren as commander of the Third Regiment’s First Battalion.”

At these words, the other gentry became anxious.

A hundred shi of grain for four eighth-rank battalion chief posts—this was a bargain never to be seen again.

A refined young man in his thirties rose and declared, “Uncle Qin, this is unfair. Jingyang is your family’s home, but is it not also the home of the Zhangs? Our family may not be as wealthy as the Qins, but we’re not to be outdone. The Zhang family will contribute a hundred shi of grain as well…”

“I’ll give a hundred and fifty shi, plus a hundred thousand coins!”

…

With Chen Ying’s enticing promises, the gentry vied to offer money and grain, and some even offered women. At such a moment, however, Chen Ying was careful not to get carried away. This newly formed Jingyang militia would be his foundation for advancement, so despite his exhaustion and blood loss, he quickly laid out a reorganization plan.

First, he filled the ranks of the militia, then set Zhang Huaiwei and You Ziying to clearing the battlefield and beginning training. To boost morale, he distributed over twelve hundred shi of grain he’d cajoled from the gentry. After reserving two hundred shi for future needs, he gave the rest to families of those killed or wounded in the street fighting.

Each injured civilian received fifty jin of grain; the families of the fallen received a hundred jin. This used up over five hundred shi. Each new militia member received a hundred jin as a settling-in allowance.

Within an hour, Chen Ying’s name was known throughout Jingyang—he became the celebrated Chief Inspector Chen.

Dragging his weary body, he led the injured on an inspection of the city’s defenses, rallying spirits.

“Who are we?”

“The Jingyang Militia!”

“What is our duty?”

“To defend our homes and country!”

“What if the enemy comes?”

“We’ll beat the hell out of them!”

There was no time for proper training, so Chen Ying could only use motivational drills, instilling a sense of collective honor in the raw recruits while leading the townsfolk in tending to the wounded.

And so, within a single day, Jingyang was transformed.