SFS Chapter 1288 How to Govern the Plateau After Taking It Over
Chapter 1288 How to Govern the Plateau After Taking It Over
In the winter of 205, the snow in Chang'an was barely ankle-deep when a sealed letter of victory was rushed into the city gates on horseback. The messenger was so cold that he could barely speak when he fell off his horse, but he held the snow-covered letter above his head—beside the names "Pang De and Zhang Xiu" on the letter was a large, bright red seal, the victory seal of the Xiliang army.
The news spread like wildfire throughout Chang'an. People flocked to the streets, and even storytellers in teahouses changed their tales on the spot, making the battle on the plateau sound incredibly fantastical. Meanwhile, in the council hall of the Xiliang army, Ma Chao was stroking the four characters "the entire territory has been pacified" on the victory report.
"These past two years have been tough," Ma Chao sighed softly. Countless late nights flashed before his eyes, the grain officer clutching the ledgers and weeping, saying that the yak caravan had been lost again on the snowy mountains, with people and grain buried in the ice crevices; letters sent by Zhang Lu's men flashed before his eyes, saying that when the highland slaves first saw the word "release," the bewilderment in their eyes was greater than their fear. They knelt on the ground, treating the hoes handed to them as tribute, having no idea how to hold them and work the land.
In his letter, Pound described in detail the plight of the slaves: nobles sacrificed living people to the mountain gods, and slaves were treated as breathing tools, carrying ore by day and locked in stone dungeons by night, never seeing the sunlight in their lives. When the Xiliang army stormed in and broke the chains, some slaves cried and shrank deeper into the stone dungeons, saying, "Our masters will punish us."
“That’s why Zhang Lu came up with that plan.” Ma Chao looked at Zhang Lu beside him. The leader of the Celestial Masters sect was dressed in a simple Taoist robe, with a tired but satisfied smile on his face. “Packaging me up as a ‘God King,’ don’t you think that’s a bit too much…”
“It has to be this way.” Zhang Lu shook his head, took out a scroll from his sleeve, and unrolled it. It depicted Ma Chao, wearing golden armor, reaching out from the clouds and turning chains into wheat fields. “They don’t believe that humans can save them, but they believe in gods. First, let them believe that there are gods who care about their suffering, then teach them to hold a hoe and recognize the five grains. They will gradually understand.”
Beside the scroll lay piles of various "tributes" sent over the past two years. The slaves had secretly placed them in front of the Xiliang army tent: smooth sheep bones, necklaces strung with agate, and small figurines sculpted from ghee—clumsy yet devout. Pound wrote in his letter that the slaves now prayed before the "God-King Picture," and after their prayers, they would go to cultivate the wasteland. Although they would still instinctively kneel down to respond, their eyes now shone with a new light.
Ma Chao pushed open the window and looked at the running figures. Suddenly, he understood the meaning of the last sentence in Pang Dexin's letter. "The hardest thing to conquer on this land is never the sword of the nobles, but the despair in the eyes of the slaves. Now that they are smiling, it is more satisfying than winning any battle."
In the distance, the long, drawn-out chimes of the Bell and Drum Towers echoed, a celebration of victory in Chang'an. Ma Chao turned and solemnly placed the victory report into a wooden box. At the bottom of the box lay a stone from the plateau, upon which were carved two crooked characters: "Rebirth."
In this battle, they not only seized territory, but also ignited the first spark of hope in those once numb eyes. And this, perhaps, is closer to the true meaning of conquest than any territorial expansion.
For thousands of years, the emperors of the Central Plains never turned their attention to this land, which was considered "barbaric". Surrounded by snow-capped mountains and shrouded in miasma, only the tribes that have lived here for generations grow barley in the cracks of rocks and carve dwellings in the cliffs, adhering to ancient rules, living like wild grass on the plateau, tenacious but also isolated.
Now, their leaders were being escorted, walking dejectedly at the head of the procession. The Tangmao tribe's leader stiffened his neck, while the Faqiang tribe's leader pursed his lips, his hands clenched tightly beneath his coarse robe. Behind them lay confiscated scimitars and spears, and scattered fragments of prayer flags.
When the outline of Chang'an appeared on the horizon, even the most arrogant tribal chief was stunned.
That wasn't the "city" they had imagined. The Vermilion Bird Avenue was wide enough for ten horses to ride abreast, with rows of buildings lining both sides, their glazed tiles gleaming warmly in the sunlight. Soldiers in gleaming armor marched past in formation, their black blades reflecting the sky, their ranks as precise as if measured with a ruler. The pedestrians were well-dressed, their faces displaying a composure they had never seen before; even children dared to look up and speak to adults.
"Is this... the Central Plains?" the Tangmao chieftain asked in a low voice, his voice filled with undisguised shock. He suddenly realized that the "territory" his tribe had guarded for generations was as insignificant as a speck of dust in the face of such grandeur.
The escorting procession passed through the Zhuque Gate. The wind from the plateau still clung to their clothes, but the warmth of Chang'an had already spread over, carrying with it the hustle and bustle of the city and the weight of civilization.
The helplessness that welled up in Ma Chao's heart was heavier than the mountain wind.
Conquering was easy. Iron cavalry swept across the icy plains, blades cleaved through resistance—it was all about sheer bravery and raw power. But what about governance? How could these tribes, accustomed to nomadic life and constant warfare, integrate into the order of the Central Plains? How could this barren land grow crops and bear the fruits of civilization?
After all, this was the first time in thousands of years that this land had truly been in sync with the pulse of the Central Plains. And he was fortunate enough to be the one who connected the dots.
The candlelight flickered in the council hall, reflecting the varied expressions on everyone's faces. Ma Chao suppressed the turmoil in his heart, his fingertips lightly tapping on the table, his gaze sweeping over those seated—Li Ru's sinister look, Jia Xu's indifference, Xu Shu's composure, Lu Su's gentleness, and the faint pity on the faces of the Zhang brothers.
"As you all have heard," Ma Chao's voice carried a hint of weariness, "taking the land is not difficult; the difficulty lies in what comes after. Those people of the plateau have been enslaved for generations, and they may not even know their own names, let alone any rules or laws. If we kill the nobles, will they understand 'freedom'? If we release them, they will only find a new master and repeat the same mistakes."
Lu Su leaned forward slightly, the bamboo slips on the table rustling softly. "Your Majesty," he said, "I believe we should emulate the 'registered households' system of the Central Plains. First, we should ascertain the population and land of each tribe, confiscating the private property of nobles and distributing land according to households, so that the people know that 'hard work brings rewards,' rather than being dependent on others." He paused, then added, "Furthermore, we should establish schools to teach them to read, arithmetic, etiquette, and right from wrong. In time, they will naturally integrate into the social order."
“Zijing is too idealistic.” Li Ru sneered, the candlelight casting dappled shadows in his eyes. “The plateau is bitterly cold; dividing the land is easy, but guarding it is difficult. How much grain and manpower will be needed to replenish it? The Xiliang army is already short of funds. If we throw resources into that bottomless pit, what will we use to fight if the war situation in the Central Plains changes?” A cold glint flashed in his eyes. “It would be better to use the pretext of suppressing the rebellion to confiscate the property of the nobles and exterminate their clans, and demote the common people to military households, with the men serving as soldiers and the women as servants. At least they can still be used by us, which is better than supporting a bunch of ungrateful good-for-nothings.”
“Wen You, you are mistaken,” Xu Shu retorted, frowning. “What have the common people done wrong? If we act in this way, how are we any different from those nobles who treat human life as worthless? Who will dare to submit to Your Majesty in the future?” He turned to Ma Chao, his tone earnest. “I think we should first select some mild-mannered tribal leaders, offer them generous rewards, and have them take the lead in submitting. Then we can send officials to stay and gradually implement the new laws, slowly replacing the old customs. Although it will take a long time, it will win the hearts of the people.”
Jia Xu, who had been stroking his beard in silence, suddenly spoke up: "Xu Yuanzhi is only half right. We need to win over the people, but we can't neglect deterrence." He looked up at Ma Chao, "Those nobles who stubbornly resist, kill them; those leaders who dare to incite rebellion, kill them. But after the killings, we must show the remaining people that those who submit will have food to eat and land to cultivate, while those who resist will only face death. Only by combining kindness and severity can we gain a foothold."
Upon hearing this, Zhang Lu nodded slightly: "What Mr. Jia Xu said is consistent with the principle of 'rewarding good and punishing evil' in our sect. We can send some followers to go with us, guide them with our doctrines, tell them that 'all beings are equal,' and then supplement it with legal constraints. Perhaps they will be more likely to accept it."
Zhang Wei added from the side, "Brother is right. Those people believe in ghosts and gods, so we make them believe that 'those who obey prosper, those who defy perish' is the way of Heaven, and that being law-abiding will bring blessings."
With everyone holding their own opinions, the debate in the council hall gradually intensified. Lu Su insisted on "appeasement," Li Ru advocated "toughness," Xu Shu advocated "gradualism," Jia Xu emphasized "a combination of kindness and severity," and the Zhang brothers pinned their hopes on "doctrinal guidance."
The candlelight flickered in the council chamber, casting Ma Chao's shadow on the tent wall, sometimes bright, sometimes dim. The sound of his fingertips tapping the table was exceptionally clear in the silence, each tap seeming to strike the heartstrings of everyone present. The outline of the plateau on the map was drawn in vermilion, like a heavy brand, pressing down on everyone, making it hard to breathe.
“These people…” Ma Chao’s voice was low, hoarse with contemplation, “It’s not that my blade isn’t sharp enough.” He paused, his fingertip tracing the characters for “grassland” before finally landing on the mark for “plateau.” “Grassland tribes live nomadically, following the water and grass, born on horseback and dying on horseback. They surrender today, but tomorrow they might be rolling up their tents and disappearing into the Gobi Desert. Governing them is like grasping quicksand. But the people of the plateau are different—”
He looked up at Zhang Lu, his gaze inquisitive: "Although they also herd cattle and sheep, they also grow barley in the valleys and build stone houses in the mountain hollows. Last year, Pang De's military report mentioned that a tribe was willing to fight to the last man against the invading tribe in order to protect a few acres of arable land. This has its roots."
Li Ru frowned slightly: "So what if they have roots? This is a barren land. Even if they have farming habits, their output is still less than that of a single prefecture in the Central Plains. Keeping them here is a burden."
“Wenyou only knows one side of the story.” Ma Chao shook his head, his voice becoming more certain. “They have been treated like livestock by nobles for generations, shackled from birth, yet they did not rise up like the grassland people. It’s not cowardice, but rather that they have endured hardship and recognize ‘order’ in their bones—even if it’s an order that devours people.” He looked at Zhang Lu. “The ‘God King’ identity that Master Zhang sculpted for me is more important than anything else in their eyes. The grassland people believe in Tengri, yet they dare to contend with the heavens; the plateau people believe in mountain gods, yet they kneel down even when speaking to the snow-capped mountains. This reverence is the opportunity we can exploit.”
Xu Shu clapped his hands and said, “My lord sees things clearly. The grassland people are unruly and need to be suppressed by force; the plateau people are obedient and should be transformed by kindness. Since they already have the foundation of agriculture, we should teach them more advanced farming methods; since they believe in gods, we should use their doctrines to guide them to know etiquette and understand the law. Given time, they may very well become the bulwark of my Western Liang.”
Lu Su nodded in agreement: "Just as my lord said, they have roots. As long as these roots are planted in 'stability,' that they have land to cultivate, food to eat, and their children no longer have to be slaves, they will cherish this stability and fear chaos more than anyone else."
Zhang Lu rose, cupped his hands, and swept his robe sleeves across the table, stirring up a gentle breeze: "Your Majesty is wise. These people's reverence for God is precisely the ladder to enlightenment. My followers have already set up an altar in the valley, preaching 'all beings are equal, and diligence brings blessings.' Although they dare not look up at me, when they break off a barley cake for a child, they will say, 'It was given by God.' This is a sign of their resolve to change."