That day, fierce winds swept the Northern Lands. The snow that had filled the sky finally ceased, yet the temperature did not rise—instead, it dropped further. Everywhere lay wrapped in silver, blanketed in gleaming white snow; one's breath froze into ice. Liang Prefecture remained in the midst of storm-tossed turmoil.
Moreover, as the snowstorm gradually eased, all manner of schemes and bloodshed that had been obstructed by wind and snow began to flourish.
Meng Zhao, Si Peng, Xiang Qing, and Wei Hua emerged from Hu Mountain and made their way toward Jichang County, a border county of Yongjian Commandery. Along the road, they encountered no fewer than ten bands of marauders, and martial men and violent brutes hacking and fighting each other no fewer than twenty times. Slaughter was everywhere.
The fields they passed lay barren, and the common folk's homes had withered away. Often, only a few old people remained, barely clinging to life. Some had simply frozen or starved to death inside their own homes from cold and hunger; their numbers were impossible to count.
As for the official administrations established throughout Great Yong by the Imperial Court, seven or eight out of ten had already become paralyzed. Clerks and officials had fled, while those truly calling the shots had long since been replaced by the local powerful clans and factions.
What they saw and heard along the way left Si Peng, Xiang Qing, and Wei Hua—who rarely came down from the mountains—both shocked and delighted.
They were shocked that Liang Prefecture's situation had deteriorated to such a state, yet the Imperial Court still had not produced any plan for disaster relief. Who knew what the gathered lords in the court were thinking, or whether they had some unspeakable difficulties?
Yet they were delighted because such chaos was