Chapter Seven: The People's Hearts Yearn for Change

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Let us turn back the clock to the seventh year of the Great Enterprise. Emperor Yang Guang’s imperial entourage had already departed from the capital, passing through the Eastern Capital of Luoyang, then heading north along the Grand Canal, finally arriving at Zhuo Commandery. Along the way, they received an urgent report from the Censorate: the laborers originally conscripted from Zou County in Qi Commandery to serve in Liaodong had not arrived as scheduled. Instead, incited by a man named Wang Bo, a mob had risen in rebellion. Upon hearing the news, Li Wenyuan requested leave from Xue Ju, claiming he wished to visit friends in Shandong, thus departing from Jincheng and rushing toward Shandong.

December of the seventh year was far colder than usual, and snow had already begun to fall in Qi Commandery. In ordinary years, Wang Bo would surely have composed a poem to praise the auspicious snow foretelling a fruitful year. But times had changed; gazing at the thick blanket of snow, he felt no inspiration. As the third batch of laborers conscripted for Liaodong, they were about to brave the biting north wind of winter, carrying barely enough food to fill their stomachs as they escorted military provisions. The villagers who had escaped from previous batches claimed the snow in Liaodong already reached the waist, and for every ten men escorting a supply cart, only three might survive the journey. The dead laborers were simply cast into roadside ditches, stretching unending for hundreds of miles.

In the days before departure, Wang Bo sought out Meng Rang, another conscripted laborer from Qi Commandery. Meng Rang’s family was skilled in martial arts, and so Meng himself had some knowledge of military tactics and fighting.

“Meng, brother! We’re about to set off for Liaodong, the road perilous and treacherous, only two or three out of ten survive. Are we really destined to die in Liaodong?” Wang Bo cried, beating his chest in despair.

“Wang Bo, I’m a straightforward man. Spare me those scholarly airs. Just say what’s on your mind,” Meng replied, glancing at Wang Bo as he packed his things for Liaodong.

“Meng, brother, in my view, whether we go to Liaodong or rise in rebellion, death awaits us either way. Why should we die for that old emperor, a stranger in a foreign land?” Wang Bo whispered.

“But how can just the two of us challenge the government?” Meng wondered, scratching his head.

“No need for you to worry, let me handle everything,” Wang Bo replied confidently.

The next day, Wang Bo seized the opportunity before the officials supervising the provisions arrived, gathering most of the laborers together. Climbing atop a supply cart, he addressed the assembled crowd:

“Fellow villagers! We are all wretched souls, dragged here to die for that foolish, corrupt emperor! I heard from those who escaped that of all the corpses in Liaodong, most are laborers like us! We starve as we haul grain for the emperor, yet there’s not enough food to bring home! My neighbor only escaped by stealing a handful of grain—and even then, he was hunted down by officials. Last autumn, his entire family was executed, not even a child left alive!”

Someone spoke up, “Brother, you’re talking about old Liu from Zou County, aren’t you? I was there when he was executed. What a tragedy for his family.”

Wang Bo was startled. The first half was what he’d heard; the second half, he’d invented himself. How could someone connect the story so precisely? He looked toward the speaker, who nodded in his direction before slipping into the crowd. Wang Bo understood: this man was here to help him accomplish something great. His motives unknown, Wang Bo resolved to cooperate fully and play his part in this unfolding drama.

“That’s right, brother, it was Liu. Folks, I’ve studied the stars and see ill omens for the emperor—his throne will not last! Why shouldn’t we rise up, rally heroes from across the land, and strike together? If you follow me, not only could you earn merit, but when a new dynasty is founded, the rewards will be princely! Are emperors and nobles born so?”

“Kill the cruel officials, share out the grain! Qi and Lu rise, the Sage of the World leads!” shouted the man who had spoken earlier.

One voice became a hundred, then a thousand, then ten thousand! The laborers stormed the commandery office, killed the prefect of Qi Commandery, whose soldiers had already been sent to Liaodong, leaving only the old, sick, and weak behind. They rushed into the military camp, broke open the arsenal, distributing weapons and armor. The chief clerk of the granary was killed, the account books burned, and the official stores of rice divided among the people. Then thousands more soldiers were recruited on the spot, and together they seized Changbai Mountain to the north.

The narrative notes: In the Sui dynasty, Changbai Mountain was not the later famed mountain between Baishan and Heishui, but rather the area bordering modern-day Zou County and Zhangqiu in Shandong.

After the twelve-word slogan was shouted, Wang Bo adopted the title “Sage of the World,” signifying his insight into the changing tides of fate. Later, he sent men to seek out the mysterious speaker, but the man was never found, as if it had all been a fleeting dream.

Now that the rebellion had begun, what was needed were soldiers. Wang Bo had no shortage of weapons, armor, or provisions after looting the commandery’s stores and arsenal; what he lacked were men. So he sent his cleverest followers to spread his “Song of Death in Liaodong” far and wide:

Before Changbai Mountain stands the Sage of the World, clad in crimson silk and padded cloth.
Long spears pierce the sky, broad blades shine like the sun.
Upon the mountain, they hunt deer; below, they feast on cattle and sheep.
When the official troops approach, blades are raised to drive them back.
Death in Liaodong is as nothing; what harm is a severed head?

Wang Bo felt this was insufficient, so he composed several more poems, which spread throughout Qi and Lu:

First:
Do not go to Liaodong, the road is long and winding.
Old parents wait at the gate, young wives keep empty rooms.
Fields lie fallow, work is left undone.
Departing, who knows when we return? At Dragon Mound, I long for home.

Second:
Do not go to Liaodong, the journey is always hard.
The great river has no ferry, mountains touch the clouds.
Thin clothes suffer under frost, heavy snow carves the bones.
At sunset on cold hills, we walk on and on, sleeping under ice and rain, hearts crushed.

Third:
Do not go to Liaodong, the barbarians are like wolves and tigers.
Long swords shatter bodies, sharp arrows pierce throats.
Life ends in a moment, who mourns the fallen hero?
Victorious generals are rewarded, but why must I die among wild grass?

These verses spread across Qi and Lu, each word poignant and incisive, painting the misery of Liaodong’s laborers in vivid strokes—some exaggeration, but the choice between dying far from home or fighting back was easily made. Shandong’s peasants responded in droves.

Wang Bo’s influence grew in Qi and Lu. Douzi Hang, who had escaped from Liaodong, also rallied over ten thousand returnees in Cangzhou, behind Qi Commandery, rising in rebellion by killing officials and gathering refugees from Liaodong, eventually amassing over twenty thousand followers, gazing at Wang Bo across the Yellow River.

One day, Douzi Hang sent a messenger to Wang Bo: “General Wang, your fame precedes you. To meet you is my good fortune.”

Wang Bo replied with a smile, “Not so, General Dou. Your work in aiding Liaodong’s refugees in Cangzhou is truly worthy of praise. What brings you here today?”

The messenger produced a map, handing it to Wang Bo’s attendants. “My general wishes to strengthen our alliance, to aid each other against the government troops. But the Yellow River is a great barrier. He proposes we jointly build a dock and navy at this location, to connect our forces.”

Wang Bo unfolded the map, examining a point south of Pingyuan Commandery. “The Yellow River’s course is ever-changing. A dock is possible, but if the river shifts, won’t it be like fetching water with a leaky pot?”

“My general has considered this. When we slew the cruel officials, we found records of the river’s history in the commandery archives, and consulted a geomancer for the site. This crossing has not been affected by floods for a century, so you may rest easy,” the messenger replied respectfully.

“And how shall the navy be organized?” Wang Bo asked.

“My general proposes both sides contribute men and resources, with your navy commander as chief. Our officers will have no complaints,” the messenger replied without hesitation.

“Very well, tell General Dou that I will honor the agreement, build the dock, and construct the boats,” Wang Bo said.

“Such decisiveness I have never seen. I am impressed. I shall return to report,” the messenger replied.

During the formation of Wang Bo and Douzi Hang’s navy, the spring flood of the Yellow River destroyed only two warships—a minor loss. The people, however, suffered greatly. One man, Sun Anzu of Zhangnan County, lost his house and possessions to the flood, his wife and children starving to death in its wake, leaving him heartbroken.

When conscription began anew for the war against Goguryeo, the county selected Sun Anzu for his bravery, forcing him into the army. When the summons arrived, Sun Anzu knelt and wept, “My wife and children have just died. I have not yet found their bodies for burial. How can I leave home? Please, allow me to bury them before I answer the call.”

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The magistrate grew furious, slamming the table and shouting, “Sun Anzu! You are but a commoner. To be conscripted is a great honor, and brave men are recruited for Liaodong. Do you dare defy the imperial command?”

Not satisfied with mere admonishment, the magistrate ordered, “Men, beat this insolent fellow eighty strokes and send him, bound, to the military camp.”

Sun Anzu could bear it no longer. His forehead bulged with veins as, suddenly, he seized the fire-and-water staff from a bailiff and hurled it at the magistrate. The magistrate, seeing Sun Anzu’s sudden attack, ducked too late; after years of acting high and mighty, he could not match Sun Anzu’s speed and was struck at the temple, dying on the spot.

The bailiffs, seeing the magistrate dead, were thrown into confusion. Several then rushed forward to seize Sun Anzu but were instead knocked to the ground, groaning in pain. Sun Anzu bore no grudge against them, using only skillful force to dislocate their joints, without taking lives. Seizing the moment when the rest were cowed, he fled, seeking refuge with Dou Jiande.

Dou Jiande was a man of integrity and exceptional skill, appointed as captain over two hundred conscripted braves by the county. Seeing the peoples’ suffering, he refused the order to lead troops to Liaodong. He said to Sun Anzu:

“What times are these? Remember when Emperor Wen was on the throne, the nation was strong, the people prosperous, yet a million troops sent to Liaodong returned in defeat. Now, with the spring floods of the Yellow River, the people are destitute, and His Majesty insists on personally leading the campaign against Goguryeo. The soldiers sent west against the Turks haven’t even returned home for a glimpse of their families. If this continues, disaster will surely follow.”

Sun Anzu, grateful that Dou Jiande risked his life to shelter him, said, “Brother, whatever you need of me, just say the word. My life is yours; I will face fire and death without complaint.”

Dou Jiande waved off the words, “I don’t ask you to risk your life. But a man born in this world, even if he cannot achieve fame, should not become a captive to the barbarians. Several miles southeast lies a place called Gaojipo, a vast lake covered in thick reeds, enough to hide thousands.”

Hesitating, Dou Jiande continued, “I have two hundred soldiers, all from poor families. I cannot bear to see them die in Liaodong. Take them to Gaojipo for now; I’ll help you recruit more refugees and draft dodgers. You may strike against cruel officials and wicked wealthy men, but never target the poor. Instead, help them as much as you can—remember this.”

Sun Anzu agreed, and that night led his two hundred braves into Gaojipo, declaring himself general and inviting Zhang Jin to oversee the navy, operating along dangerous waterways formed by the flooding Yellow River.

The county, realizing the two hundred braves had vanished overnight, was forced to conscript again, recruiting another two hundred and appointing Dou Jiande as captain as before.

Gao Shida of Tiao County was likewise forced to kill an official and rebel, gathering over a thousand men to operate in Qinghe Commandery. He respected Dou Jiande’s character and strictly forbade his men from harassing Dou Jiande’s hometown, defeating the government troops sent to suppress them. The government soldiers were led by Gao Zitong of Qinghe Commandery, who, worried about explaining his defeat, was told by his adjutant, “General, if spies gave warning to the bandits, the defeat could be justified. I heard these bandits pillaged everywhere except Dou Jiande’s hometown—isn’t there something...?”

Before he could finish, Gao Zitong clapped his hands, “Ah! How did I not see it? I treated Jiande poorly, and this is how he repays me! Such ingratitude has cost thousands their lives!” He beat his chest, howling in grief.

The commandery governor, upon hearing Gao Zitong’s report, insisted Dou Jiande was conspiring with the bandits and ordered Gao Zitong to lead troops to arrest Dou Jiande’s family. The commandery’s advisor, indebted to Dou Jiande, secretly sent a messenger to warn him.

At that time, Dou Jiande was training his two hundred braves when he saw a rider in the distance, nearly falling from his horse. Dou Jiande rushed to take the reins and help the man down, recognizing him as the advisor’s steward.

Seeing the steward’s terror, Dou Jiande sent for water, helping him drink and catch his breath. After a long while, the steward managed to speak: “Jiande, hurry back to Qinghe Commandery. Gao Zitong failed to suppress the bandits and now claims you conspired with them. He has orders to arrest your family!” With that, the steward fainted.

Dou Jiande was shocked—calamity had come while he sat at home. He quickly mounted his men and raced toward his old home in Qinghe.

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