Early the next morning, Jiang Hao took several Centurions to inspect the garrison and assess the situation. Putuo Garrison was stationed within the city, protected by sturdy walls and fortifications, unafraid of bandits or pirates. Inside were barracks, a parade ground, granaries, workshops, shops, and many residents.
On the parade ground, Jiang Hao inspected the troops. More than five hundred men stood there, each dark-skinned, sallow-faced, and painfully thin, looking severely malnourished.
"How long has it been since you last had a full meal?" Jiang Hao asked a soldier.
The soldier thought for a moment. "I don't remember. Anyway, ever since I can remember, I don't think I've ever had a full meal."
"How often do you eat meat?"
"Does fish count, sir?"
"Pork."
"I can eat a few slices in a year."
Fuck, these weren't soldiers. They were a bunch of beggars. No wonder so many soldiers deserted from garrisons in the late Ming, with seven or eight out of every ten gone. How could such an army possibly retain anyone?
They had to farm their own land and feed themselves, yet still pay taxes. They could not even fill their stomachs in ordinary times, and when war came, they had to risk their lives. Military household status offered no way out; generation after generation, their children and grandchildren would remain military households. The Ming lasting over two hundred years was already a miracle.
"Let me ask you all: do you want full meals? Do you want meat?" Jiang Hao asked.
The soldiers blinked but did not dare speak.
"If anyone wants it, you can have it today. If you don't want it, then you won't. I'm asking you, do you want it?!" Jiang Hao shouted.
This time, he infused his voice with inner force. It exploded beside every