Chapter Twenty-One: Oolong Ravine

With ample funds in hand, Li Zhao was ready to spread his wings.

The first step was to tear down the dilapidated little Taoist temple and build a beautiful new headquarters for the Unorthodox Ones, naming it: The Wolf’s Den.

The second step was to unify the attire and weaponry of the Unorthodox Ones, both personally designed by Li Zhao.

The Asura Blade—crafted from refined steel, weighing four pounds six ounces and measuring four feet two inches, its blade stood tall and sharp.

The Fiery Robe—bright red in color, with narrow sleeves and a front-open design reaching the knees, paired with a belt made of tanned cowhide, making it convenient for fighting, running, and riding.

From then on, these two items became the symbols of the Unorthodox Ones.

The third step was to enforce strict discipline, strengthen training, expand the ranks, and recruit a multitude of talented individuals.

All these steps seemed easy enough, but in practice, they proved troublesome. Li Zhao rose before dawn and worked late into the night, exhausting himself to the point where his snores thundered when he slept.

After more than a month of such toil, Li Zhao realized he couldn’t go on like this. So busy with official duties, he had no time for leisure, entertainment, or even the simple joys of cockfighting and dog racing. Life had become a torment.

What to do?

The best solution was to find someone both loyal and capable to share the burden, so he could free himself.

But whom to choose?

White Bun was too young, not yet ready to take charge alone.

White Day Rat—if he led the Unorthodox Ones, they’d surely become a band of master thieves.

The Four Great Guards were loyal enough, but unfortunately, brave yet lacking in cunning, not suited for leadership.

Helpless, Li Zhao issued a call for talent within the organization, asking everyone to recommend suitable candidates.

Within two days, including the Four Great Guards, dozens of Unorthodox Ones came forward with recommendations. Astonishingly, they all nominated the same person—Jiang Hao!

Jiang Hao, courtesy name Loyalty and Righteousness, thirty years old, a native of Wugong County in Guanzhong, was once a leader of the Unorthodox Ones. Upright and fierce against evil, he possessed remarkable martial skills; the thieves and robbers bested by him were countless. People called him the Iron-Faced Judge.

Three years ago, a noble youth tried to abduct a pair of sisters in broad daylight. Jiang Hao intervened, taught him a lesson, and earned the enmity of powerful figures. He was then falsely accused, suffered eighty lashes, and lost his position.

The sisters were still taken away, their parents beaten, and the authorities did nothing.

Justice denied, the righteous wronged—where was Heaven’s fairness?

After this, many Unorthodox Ones resigned, the rest muddled through, living in confusion.

Having learned the details, Li Zhao became interested in the Iron-Faced Judge—just the talent he urgently needed!

“Where is Jiang Hao now?”

“After losing his job, Brother Jiang moved to Wulong Ditch in the southern part of the city, making a living as a laborer.”

“You know where he lives?”

“Yes!”

“Good, take me there. I want to see what this Iron-Faced Judge is truly like!”

With his mind made up, Li Zhao brought White Bun, White Day Rat, the Four Great Guards, and prepared wine, meat, and gifts, heading straight to Wulong Ditch!

…

Wulong Ditch was located southwest of Chang’an, outside Yanping Gate. Its origins were long and complicated.

Chang’an housed over a million people, generating massive amounts of wastewater daily. How to handle it became a major issue.

There were two solutions: one, dig many deep pits and let the water seep underground, called seepage wells.

Two, dig open ditches along the streets and alleys, then, using Chang’an’s geography—high in the northeast, low in the southwest—channel the sewage out of the city and into distant rivers. The area the sewage flowed through gradually became a long, foul-smelling ditch, black as ink, hence the name Wulong Ditch.

The method was ingenious, but because the sewage contained too much household garbage and the authorities neglected management, Wulong Ditch gradually clogged and drained less efficiently, resulting in overflowing filth and overwhelming stench.

Especially in the autumn rainy season, Chang’an would flood, water even entering common homes, tormenting the people.

…

“This place is monstrous!” Li Zhao coughed.

“Master, bear with it. This is nothing. Wait until the autumn rains—then it’s truly monstrous!”

Around noon, Li Zhao arrived at Wulong Ditch and was immediately overwhelmed by the stench, his brain deprived of oxygen, nearly fainting.

The ditch, over six yards wide, was filled with black, filthy water, floating with heaps of garbage and decomposing cats, dogs, rats… In the summer heat, countless insects swarmed, buzzing about, the smell unspeakable.

Nearby, piles of rubbish from the city were heaped haphazardly, forming garbage mountains up to seventy or eighty feet tall, their acrid stench drifting for miles.

Astonishingly, amid such filth and chaos, numerous low houses had been constructed, sheltering hundreds of thousands of people, all gaunt and ragged, barely distinguishable from beggars, each busy with various tasks.

Some knelt, weaving baskets from bamboo strips; others, burdened with heavy sacks, transported goods; still others carried or pushed manure buckets, dumping them into the ditch.

Children, pale and thin, scavenged through garbage for anything usable—broken mats, scraps of iron—or leftover food, which, if found, was a prize, wolfed down regardless of rot or filth.

Isn’t this the era of flourishing prosperity? Isn’t Chang’an the wealthiest city of the Tang Empire? How could so many live in poverty?

Li Zhao felt faint again; history books could not be trusted wholly.

“Who lives here?”

“Master, these are poor people. They have no money, no land, so must live in this wretched place.”

“This is the capital, the model city under the Emperor’s feet—doesn’t the government manage it? Living in such filth and chaos, how many must fall ill?”

“Master, it’s precisely because it’s filthy and chaotic that these people have somewhere to stay. If one day it’s clean and orderly, they’d have nowhere to live.”

“Why?”

“The nobles seized the land!”

…

In conversation with the Four Great Guards, Li Zhao learned much.

It was indeed the age of prosperity; the nation was rich, but wealth was not evenly distributed. Severe polarization had taken hold—the rich growing richer, the poor poorer, with the former constantly annexing the latter’s lands and resources.

Chang’an, teeming with nobles, had the greatest land grabs. Nearly all fertile land in Guanzhong was in noble hands; the dispossessed commoners either fled elsewhere or came to the city for work.

But they couldn’t buy houses—no money; nor build outside the city—no land.

Thus, refugees crowded near Wulong Ditch, the area despised by nobles, forming massive slums. Most residents survived by menial labor.

The lucky ones served as servants or maids in wealthy households, apprenticed to craftsmen, or worked as shop assistants—often abused, but at least fed.

The unlucky could only labor, beg, or even sell their children, living day to day.

Of course, some crafty types, unable to endure hardship, turned to thievery, fraud, or organized gangs, becoming a cancer in Chang’an.

The environment at Wulong Ditch must be improved, and the Tang Empire’s corrupt policies must be changed—Li Zhao resolved inwardly.

Soon, they arrived at Jiang Hao’s dwelling—a simple little courtyard with three mud-and-thatch houses, no proper fence, just a circle of branches and a makeshift wooden gate, leaning precariously.

Inside was a weapons rack, holding sabers, spears, and staffs, their surfaces polished smooth, evidence of frequent use.

“Brother Jiang! Brother Jiang!” Liu Yidao called several times, but no answer came. Asking neighbors, they learned Jiang Hao had gone to chop wood.

Not only was Wulong Ditch filthy and chaotic, but it had not a single grove nearby. To chop wood, one had to go ten miles away to Shaoling Plain or Shenhe Plain—not likely to return soon.

“Master, Brother Jiang won’t be back for a while. Shall we wait inside?”

“No, we’ll wait here.”

Though the gate was easy to move, Li Zhao refused to enter, insisting on waiting outside. To enter another’s home without permission, even in such hardship, was a matter of courtesy and respect.

…

After waiting more than an hour, a figure finally appeared.

Tall and resolute, dressed in tattered clothes, he carried two massive bundles of firewood on a thick staff, likely hundreds of pounds, walking slowly past his own courtyard. Instead, he first entered his neighbors’ homes, distributing the wood among them, keeping only a small bundle for himself.

“Excellent. Even in poverty, he thinks of others—a true man with a warm heart!” Li Zhao nodded to himself, realizing his journey had not been in vain.