Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 209:

The combined members of the Zhang and Wang families, along with the households of Old Man Bi and Old Man Yao, plus the soldiers transporting a portion of the grain and weapons, already made for a sizable force. Adding another hundred unfamiliar locals wouldn’t make the work much faster.

But Zhang Zhong didn’t refuse. The number of helpers didn’t matter — what mattered was that they came. He himself hadn’t done anything yet to earn the locals’ goodwill, and his men were all busy. It could only have been his son and daughter-in-law’s actions that brought them here.

This, he thought, was the breakthrough. Even if these hundred villagers did little or even made mistakes, he wouldn’t scold them. The important thing was that they came forward at all — a chance to open relations.

When the meal was nearly done, Zhang Zhong stopped eating and had someone go ask whether the villagers had eaten. If not, they would have to cook something simple — no one should work on an empty stomach.

The messenger returned: they had all eaten. It turned out the reason they came was simple — salt. About ten-odd catties of it. Some were direct recipients, others had been called over by them.

Every adult had the same thought: the children reflected their families. A child’s clothes could be patched and old; what mattered was whether they were clean. If a child was dirty, people didn’t blame the child — they blamed lazy parents.

Those households that received salt learned that it came from the official’s own children. The neighbors, seeing that, said, “If the children are this well-mannered, the parents must be good people.” And so they came — to look, and to lend a hand.

To show goodwill, Zhang Zhong personally met the villagers. 

These people were unlike those elsewhere. In most places, commoners would tremble before a cishi (prefect). But here, they didn’t care about his rank; they only came to see what kind of man the new official was.

Their casual attitude made Zhang Zhong abandon any thought of long speeches. He simply pointed out a few tasks and had the villagers start working, while ordering preparations for the evening meal.

He understood what “having eaten” meant here: one or two meals a day, rarely three. Even in the capital, few families could afford three meals a day, let alone this impoverished region.

Compared to his own household, where the workers ate four times a day and even the servants three, the difference in living standards was staggering. 

Whether out of genuine compassion or calculated goodwill, dinner had to be generous and hearty — the people’s hearts were won through their stomachs.

After an hour and a half of rest, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan awoke refreshed. The first thing they did was ask whether anyone had fallen ill. 

Everyone was fine, though noticeably more fatigued than usual.

The weather wasn’t ideal — gray and heavy. The region was perpetually damp, and with the day’s sharp temperature drop, people lost body heat quickly and felt sluggish. The locals were used to it, but the newcomers weren’t.

The adults were weary; the children even more so. They’d all crawled into the central room of their portable house, lying side by side on the carpet, asleep. Perhaps huddling together made them warmer.

Peering through the window, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan saw the seven little ones pressed tightly against each other under the blankets. Even in sleep, the two children on the outer edges frowned, clearly cold.

“It’s chilly,” Wang Juan murmured. “The temperature’s dropped fast. It was hot at noon, and in just three hours it’s freezing.” She touched the children’s foreheads. No fever. She exhaled in relief and turned to Zhang Xiaobao.

“The sun’s blocked by the mountains,” Zhang Xiaobao said. “With all this moisture in the air, the house can’t be sealed up, so the warmth escapes. Of course they’re cold. Look — the temperature’s only sixteen degrees. Someone! Bring in a few hot-water bags. And you call this careful supervision?”

He glared up at the sky, dissatisfied. “Didn’t I say to keep the room between twenty-three and twenty-seven degrees? What are you all doing?”

The maids looked aggrieved. One whispered, “Young Master, the air’s too damp. When we put hot-water bags inside, it only gets more humid. We’ve already changed the blankets twice — they go damp again every time.”

“Then keep changing them,” Zhang Xiaobao said curtly. “Warm them up first. Think about the rest later.” He didn’t need to touch the blankets; his own clothes were clammy enough to tell.

Once the maids brought in several hot-water bags, the temperature rose noticeably. The children’s faces relaxed, their frowns smoothing away. A few even smiled in their dreams.

Wang Juan examined the walls and then opened the insulation layer. “We’ll have the men bring down the fittings from the ship,” she said. “They took out the lime packs earlier to reduce weight. Add some good charcoal as desiccant. The adults can put up with hardship, but not the little ones. Xiaobao, think — is there anything that can keep the air dry in cycles?”

“There is,” Zhang Xiaobao said. “A material that absorbs moisture from the air, and when saturated, drains the water into a trough below, repeating the process. But I don’t know what it’s called, so we can’t make it here. For now we’ll just use charcoal and lime.”

He sounded frustrated. When you really need knowledge, you realize how much you lack. He had studied something similar once but hadn’t seen much profit in it, so he’d never followed up — a decision he now regretted.

While the two of them fretted over the children’s comfort, the three elders were worrying over logistics. In just a few days, the army would march toward Tubo’s Jinshui region — and there was still no visible movement from the Zhang family’s supply unit.

The provisions they had brought would feed only three thousand men for half a month. Yet the army numbered fifteen thousand. The plan was for a rapid strike: they’d carry ten days’ worth of rations made from the transported grain and local stockpiles. After that — it all depended on the Zhangs.

For secrecy’s sake, no prior requisition had been announced. If they tried to purchase grain on the spot later, prices would skyrocket. With just over a month until harvest, this was the season when household stores were lowest. Grain merchants would surely exploit the chance to drive up prices.

Forcible seizure was the last resort — it would wreck the local economy.

As the three elders sat around a charcoal brazier brewing tea, frowning in silence, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan arrived to check on them. The young pair made a habit of caring for the elderly as attentively as the children.

Before Zhang Xiaobao could even ask, Old Man Bi spoke first.

“Xiaobao, is the grain ready? In three days we march. This time we’re not only to seize a city — we’re to destroy Tubo’s farmlands, ruin their harvest, and delay their counterattack.”

“Grandpa Bi, don’t worry,” Zhang Xiaobao replied confidently. “When the troops march in three days, the grain will move with them. Even if you told me they were already on the road, the supplies would still catch up. And if no one interferes, we can even deliver arrows and ammunition in time. By the way, Grandpa Bi, who’s commanding this campaign?”

“Guo Tu,” Old Man Yao answered from the side.

“Guo Tu? The one from the Three Kingdoms?” Zhang Xiaobao blinked. “Didn’t he live centuries ago?”

“Of course not that one,” Old Man Bi said dryly. “No one lives that long. The army will depart for Jinshui in three days. Whether we succeed or fail depends on what your family accomplishes. If you succeed, forget your father staying in Luoyang — he could be cishi of Yaozhou if he wanted.”

He could only trust the Zhang family’s extraordinary abilities now; everything would depend on the outcome three days later.

Zhang Xiaobao’s expression turned solemn. “Grandpa Bi, rest assured — wherever the army advances, our logistics will follow. If even a single grain is missing, then the promise you made before won’t count. My father will refuse any promotion.”

Old Man Bi nodded and said, “If you succeed, every man in your family will be granted official rank, every woman an honorary title. At your father’s next posting, he can choose wherever he wishes. And if you want office, the court will grant you a title as well.”

That was no mere personal assurance — it was a commitment from the imperial court itself, or rather, from the Emperor. There was simply no other family in all of Great Tang like the Zhangs.